




























BEYOND PARADISE 


C. R. MULLONG 


















/ 

BEYOND 

PARADISE 


BY 

C. R. MULLONG / 


dorranceT COMPANY 

PHILADELPHIA 




COPYRIGHT 1924 
DORRANCE & COMPANY INC 



MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 


M 19 * 24 * 

©Cl A 81 5248 V Vt> V" 



BEYOND PARADISE 







v 


Chapter I 

There was nothing unusual about the marriage of 
Marcia Stover and Doctor Donald Blake, except, perhaps, 
that it was preceded by a courtship of ten years’ duration, 
prolonged by Marcia’s coquetry. 

During the early stages of their acquaintance, she did 
not even bother to treat Blake with common civility. But 
he met her rebuffs with a sort of disarming timidity, 
despite the fact that her attitude frequently reduced him 
to a point where he was willing to surrender to discour¬ 
agement. But these fits of despondency were of short 
duration, and with their passing he would renew his 
determination to win her with patient, unremitting efforts 
to prove his devotion. As the years passed, the gangling, 
raw-boned young doctor, who had startled his Waverly 
colleagues by performing a remarkable surgical operation 
within a week after his graduation, grew up to all of 
Marcia’s girlish ideals,—far beyond anything she had 
thought possible. 

In the meantime, his conspicuous progress and unusual 
ability had attracted the attention of mothers of marriage¬ 
able daughters, and Marcia was given plenty of reason to 
worry lest Blake’s interest might be diverted from her. 
Long before he finally brought the matter to a climax 
by urging that it was time they married if they were ever 
going to be, she had spent many anxious days and restless 
nights because of his apparent willingness to let matters 
between them drag on indefinitely. She was not so in¬ 
clined to forestall his wishes this time as she had been on 
the occasion when he had first asked her to be his wife 
the year after they had met. So, without any show of 
coquettish hesitancy, Marcia proposed that they motor 
directly to Webster, where her uncle would marry them. 

So it happened that they were married a few hours 
later. The ceremony performed, Blake took the girl in 
his arms, holding her close for an instant and looking 


8 


BEYOND PARADISE 


deep into her blue eyes, as if endeavoring to realize the 
fact that she was at last his wife. Then he kissed her, 
whispering, “This is the greatest thing I ever did in my 
life.” 

“I’ll never give you a reason to think otherwise,” she 
assured him. “Oh, the world—this world—is wonderful 
to live in!” 

And although they were quite unconscious of any trite¬ 
ness of expression, their words did not differ much from 
many, many others her uncle had heard uttered by as 
many lovers on the completion of the innumerable wedding 
ceremonies he had been called upon to perform during 
his long ministerial career. 

The Stover’s family automobile was waiting for the 
couple when they emerged from the parsonage, Marcia’s 
father having driven up from Williston when she tele¬ 
phoned that they were going to Webster to be married 
by her Uncle Adam. A small boy, mowing the parsonage 
lawn, flung a handful of rice after them as they climbed 
into the car, for which pleasantry Blake tossed him a 
dollar. The lad looked wistfully after the machine fast 
disappearing down the dusty road, delighted by the gro¬ 
tesque floppings of a collection of old shoes he had sus¬ 
pended from one of the rear springs. “Gee,” he muttered 
to himself, “that guy must be happy, thro win’ me a buck 
just like nothin’.” 

During his ten years of courtship Blake had not allowed 
his love affair to interfere seriously with his work. In 
addition to an unremitting devotion to his profession, he 
had practiced the strictest economy, and had, as a conse¬ 
quence, accumulated an enviable amount of money and 
real estate. His marriage to Marcia, therefore, was re¬ 
garded by many Waverly folk as the union of beauty and 
the treasure chest. 

The presumption that Marcia was a spendthrift was 
justified, if people who spend all they earn to live de¬ 
cently may be fairly called that. In extenuation of the 
charge, it is only honest to admit that her case was a 
rather unusual one. She was one of those persons who 
are practically compelled to live exceptionally well. Her 
extraordinary beauty, which had brought her equally 


BEYOND PARADISE 


9 


extraordinary popularity, opened the doors of homes to 
her not frequented by people in plebian attire, and she 
was not the sort of person likely to disappoint or em¬ 
barrass anyone. So, despite the fact that she spent her 
entire salary on becoming and more or less costly clothes, 
it would be unfair to condemn her as extravagant or 
wasteful. 

Although always conspicuously attractive in appear¬ 
ance, Marcia spent considerably less money for clothes 
than most of her friends, many of whom appeared com¬ 
monplace or even dowdy in comparison. Wise applica¬ 
tion of the limited funds at her disposal made it possible 
for her to maintain an air of prosperity bordering on 
opulence; her training in careful expenditure was the 
result of dire necessity. While she was still studying at a 
school for girls in St. Louis, her father grew more and 
more negligent in the payment of her allowance, until at 
last she was forced to leave school and extract the means 
of a livelihood from her own resources. 

For a girl not yet seventeen, who had never known the 
necessity of working outside her own home, this was no 
easy matter. She was fortunate, however, in having taken 
a summer course after graduation from high school, thus 
obtaining a certificate to teach school. This naturally was 
the first solution of her problem that occurred to her when 
she was confronted with the necessity of becoming a wage 
earner. Through friendship, and a relationship somewhat 
more cordial than friendship, with Lyman Curtis, a man 
influential with the superintendent of schools in Waverly, 
she succeeded in being appointed to a vacancy caused by 
death. At first the school board was opposed to engaging 
her on the score of her youth, but it did not take long for 
her precocity to win their confidence, and they asked 
for a renewal of her contract even before its expiration. 

It happened that Blake came to Waverly about a week 
before the end of the school term, and he became ac¬ 
quainted with Marcia among other boarders at the place 
where he took his meals. He fell promptly and deeply 
in love with her, but her unusual beauty and vivacity 
made him feel that it would be presumption for him to 
openly consider himself an eligible suitor. She somewhat 


10 


BEYOND PARADISE 


relieved the awkward feeling her presence inspired in 
him when she made interested inquiries regarding a 
surgical operation he had performed on the principal of 
the school where she taught. 

From then on, he looked forward eagerly to the hours 
when he and his fellow-boarders gathered for meals; he 
could sit across the table from Marcia and revel in his 
admiration of her charms. Even though he was just 
starting out in the practice of medicine, and correspond¬ 
ingly anxious to increase his small but growing practice, 
he did not allow professional duties to interfere with 
meal-time. He was certain then to see Marcia, if at no 
other time. But one evening he missed her, and, finding 
a stranger in her place at the table, grew sick at heart. 
She had migrated for the summer. For several days he 
grieved, but eventually consoled himself with looking for¬ 
ward to her return. 

When he learned that Marcia had gone to Williston to 
spend the summer with her father, the neighboring county- 
seat became to him a sort of shrine. Williston, looked 
upon with disdain by the populace of Waverly, seemed 
a wonderful town to him—it must be, to be the home 
of such a wonderful girl. On occasions when he accom¬ 
panied patients to Omaha for consultation with specialists, 
he would detour through Williston, hoping that he might 
be fortunate enough to get a glimpse of her as he passed 
through; for he lacked the courage to call on her in the 
face of her apparent lack of interest in him. 

Late that summer she returned again to Waverly, and 
Blake became once more a happy, hopeful man, hurrying 
to his meals, where she could not well avoid chatting with 
him. Occasionally, through his best efforts at scheming, 
he managed an apparently casual stroll with her to the 
schoolhouse, two blocks away. It was on one of these 
walks that he determined he would not permit her to re¬ 
turn to Williston to spend another vacation except accom¬ 
panied by him as her husband. The bare thought of not 
seeing her at all for months at a time was enough to 
drive him mad. And yet, despite his determination, this 
coming and going of Marcia was to continue for ten 
years, though her heart grew more and more constant, 


BEYOND PARADISE 


ii 


just as her inclination to spend more money grew with 
her increased salary. Her constancy and his mellowing 
years served to cement Blake’s determination to win her, 
until his persistency degenerated almost into a business 
matter. 

Even so soon after her marriage, while the machine 
was speeding toward Williston, a change seemed to come 
over Marcia. No one would have suspected her of 
frivolity; she was the very model of a sedate wife. All 
her thoughts and solicitude were for their future mutual 
home. These considerations completely displaced her 
former somewhat self-centered habit of mind, and her 
enthusiasm re-acted upon Blake, though his ten years of 
waiting had converted him into one of those confirmed 
bachelors, who, when they marry, usually experience 
difficulty in lifting themselves out of their accustomed 
rut. 

During the early stages of their acquaintance, and after 
she had unwisely allowed their courtship to drag on in¬ 
definitely, her dreams of future luxury were matched by 
his visions of power and freedom from home cares. Now 
that the die was definitely cast, he could talk about do¬ 
mestic and professional affairs with equal avidity. To¬ 
gether they discussed the home he had begun building 
only a fortnight before their marriage, and in their dis¬ 
cussion they dwelt on rugs, rockers, tables, beds, dishes 
and a thousand and one other things that would furnish 
it. They pictured the size and the plan of their garden, 
in which they would labor together. Marcia told him 
she wanted a screened-in porch, with ferns and swings and 
comfortable chairs under electric fans, where Blake could 
lounge and rest and read after office hours. She would 
delight in sitting near him, engaged in some household 
task. 

They encountered difficulty in deciding whether or not 
they would have a single or double garage. Blake did 
not need more than one car in his work, but Marcia had 
always wanted a motor car of her own, and the erection 
of a double garage was the first step in her plans to get it. 

Then, too, there was some debate over whether it was 
advisable to have the nursery facing the north or east. 


12 


BEYOND PARADISE 


Blake was a practical man and spoke always without 
ambiguity. He consulted the blue-print plans of the 
house. “The bright morning sun has a deleterious effect 
on a baby’s eyes,” he told her with professional wisdom. 
“It wouldn’t do to have the nursery face the east.” 

“I believe you’re right, Don,” she agreed, blushingly, 
and pretended to interest herself in something which 
really held no interest for her. “I am so ignorant about 
those things,” she added, “I’ll leave them to your judg¬ 
ment.” 

“Well, the plans call for it on the north.” 

But later, when Blake was converted to a theory that 
babies should have an abundance of sunlight, the nursery 
was changed to a room on the east. 

3(C 5)s Ji« jj: ♦ 

Blake and Marcia had agreed that their honeymoon 
should be brief—brief, that is, as far as their stay away 
from Waverly was concerned, but with their whole life 
together prolonged into a perpetual honeymoon. So, after 
spending a week hiking and motoring in the Black Hills, 
the two returned to Waverly. The people seemed more 
cordial than before; the songs of the birds sweeter; the 
hills and trees greener; the little town of ten thousand 
population appeared to them a gay and bustling metropolis. 
And their happiness centered about their little home, 
which was now in an advanced stage of construction,—a 
six-room bungalow that seemed to them more spacious 
than any other house in the town. 

Blake excused himself as soon as he had Marcia com¬ 
fortably located in a suite of rooms they had engaged at 
the Dumont hotel, where they would live until their home 
was completed. He pretended that there was some busi¬ 
ness at the office urgently awaiting his attention, but in 
reality he wanted to stroll down the street to receive the 
good wishes and congratulations of his friends. Realiz¬ 
ing that he was just as likely to find himself swapping 
jokes with Bon Moran, the ash hauler, as he was to stop 
and talk with Thomas Folsom, the banker, he did not 
want the precious and dignified Marcia with him, to be 
embarrassed. 

He was surprised to discover what a serious regard 


BEYOND PARADISE 


13 


his married friends had for the state. Instead of jovial 
slaps on the shoulder and shafts of witticism, he received 
from them expressions of hope for his success and happi¬ 
ness—as if they felt he needed their sympathy. Their 
seriousness was perplexing, but after a while he was able 
to figure the thing out for himself. It was because he had 
stepped from relative unimportance and irresponsibility 
to a position of prominence. The thought made him ex¬ 
tremely proud. 

He went back to the hotel. There he met a salesman 
whom he had patronized ever since establishing himself 
in Waverly. He shook hands with the man and talked to 
him with unusual expansiveness. The salesman, quick to 
sense the situation, scented a good day’s business, and 
found his judgment was substantiated in an easy sale to 
the doctor of as many instruments as he had purchased in 
the whole previous ten years. 

Before leaving the hotel, Blake had told Marcia the 
exact hour he expected to dine, and precisely on the 
minute she descended in the wheezing, droning old eleva¬ 
tor. The salesman welcomed the interruption, thinking 
that possibly the doctor had gone suddenly mad, it was 
so unusual for him to buy what he was not immediately 
in need of. But Blake knew what he was doing. For a 
long time he had felt the need for replacing his old equip¬ 
ment, but market conditions had been such that it was 
impossible for him to get just what he wanted. Granting 
that his sense of economy bordered on the niggardly, 
the value of a dollar never influenced him when he was 
buying surgical supplies. To him the life of a patient 
was worth more than all the money in the world, and it 
was possibly this habit of mind regarding the safety of 
his patients, even at the expense of comforts for himself 
that might prolong his usefulness, that had made him 
such a phenomenal success in his profession. 

******* 

For Marcia there was no short cut to happiness and con¬ 
tentment. These were only possible to her with body and 
mind profusely occupied, and during the days when the 
decorators were putting the finishing touches to her new 
home, and she was making daily pilgrimages to it, she 


14 


BEYOND PARADISE 


found much to do that no one else could have done for 
her satisfactorily. By nature she was facile; by applica¬ 
tion she had learned; by training she had acquired pre¬ 
cision; and it was this very perfection and exactness that 
had proved more or less of a hindrance to her in the 
past. To note a lack of tactful aggressiveness in others 
was aggravating to her, and her impatience with the in¬ 
eptness of the average laborer, made it easier for her to 
do a great many things herself than exhaust her energy 
in trying to teach others to do them. 

‘Til be glad,” she said to her husband one evening, 
gratified over the result of a day of hard work, “when 
we’re settled and I can do all of my work myself.” 

“You’ll have a maid, of course,” Blake protested. He 
considered her willingness to work an indication that she 
might readily resign herself to a life of drudgery. He 
knew of many instances where hard work and frequent 
child-bearing was the cause of beautiful women looking 
the part of household drudges, and although he did not 
subscribe to a life of luxurious idleness for anyone, he 
was not willing that Marcia should become a domestic 
slave in her desire to please him. 

“I don’t want a maid,” she demurred. “I didn’t learn 
to keep house for nothing.” 

“The room off the kitchen is especially designed for a 
maid’s room,” he reminded her. “To what use are you 
going to put it if you don’t keep a servant ?” 

“Oh,” she laughed, “we’ll find some use for it after a 
while.” 

He knew what she had in mind. “Maybe we’ll have to 
build an addition, by then.” 

“Maybe.” 

“I planned the house with that in mind.” 

“But, of course,” she went on, “there’s no hurry about 
a family.” 

“No, you’re right,” he agreed. 

* * * * * * :Je 

Even with their marriage thus long an established fact, 
Blake found it difficult at times to free himself from the 
feeling akin almost to awe that Marcia still inspired in 
him. Despite the fact that he was considered quite a 


BEYOND PARADISE 


15 


dominating personality by his colleagues, attacking them 
relentlessly whenever they blundered, although his own 
mistakes were made to appear in the light of experimental 
contributions, he was as meek as a lamb in the presence 
of his wife. This state of affairs was a source of grave 
worry to him for some time, and he wondered whether 
he would ever conquer what he considered a weakness. 
Had other women inspired in him the same feeling of 
timidity, it would have been less perplexing; but as a 
whole, women had little or no place in his life. He had 
never considered them as a sex very seriously, except as 
mothers and home-makers. He did not believe that, after 
marriage, they should disturb the mental tranquillity of 
the men who were endeavoring to make a livelihood for 
them. 

But Marcia, like a good wife, never let slip an oppor¬ 
tunity to use her influence in building up her husband’s 
prestige. He soon felt the effect of her efforts in his 
enlarged practice. People who had never engaged him 
before were now consulting him regularly, and Marcia 
was his constant inspiration in his increasing activity. 

“Marcia, you are wonderful,” he said, in speaking to 
her about it one day. “You have accomplished something 
I’ve been trying to do ever since I came here. Mrs. 
Thomas Folsom came to see me today about a minor ear 
trouble that might have cleared up without medical at¬ 
tention. I know she came to me on your account; she 
wants to get acquainted with you. She asked me to speak 
to you about going to the Country Club with them Thurs¬ 
day evening for a sort of picnic. I accepted the invita¬ 
tion for you; I thought you would like to go. You don’t 
mind ?” 

Marcia frowned. “But I hardly know her.” 

“What’s the difference! All the people you know were 
strangers to you at one time.” 

“I wouldn’t mind going if I knew them better,” she 
temporized. 

“I’ve been on friendly terms with the family for years,” 
Blake went on, “but they’ve always before called in 
Creedon; this is my chance to cut in on him. It would 
help you, too. Mrs. Folsom is mighty popular, and, be- 


i6 


BEYOND PARADISE 


lieve me, she has the money. I think we should feel 
flattered that she so evidently wants to be friendly with 
us.” 

Marcia was loathe to be rushed into a friendship she 
might regret, but she smiled prettily while she took time 
to think, in the meantime studying Blake hard. Surely 
there could be no ulterior motive in the brain behind 
those bland eyes; but why should a perfectly strange 
woman, through the medium of her husband, invite her 
to the Country Club ? It was very perplexing. She knew 
Mrs. Folsom to be a beautiful woman and the mother 
of three lovely children. A beautiful woman! Other 
thoughts came to her mind as she recalled having seen 
Mrs. Folsom drive past in her electric car the day Marcia 
and her husband had returned from their honeymoon, and 
she had smiled prettily on Blake then. Marcia hardly 
knew what to feel about this woman. 

“Thursday,” she murmured abstractedly. 

“Yes,” Blake replied. “I couldn’t think of any en¬ 
gagement we had for that evening.” 

She thought for a moment. “I have none,” she re¬ 
turned. 

He did not like the way she said it, and his gaze fol¬ 
lowed her as she went into an adjoining room, pretending 
there was something that required her attention before 
they went down for supper. 

“So I have accomplished what he could not accomplish,” 
she thought, puzzled. She turned this over and over in 
her mind. He considered her wonderful on that account. 
Was it only because of that? This feeling of baffl'ed un¬ 
certainty was so new to her that she wished she could 
run to someone for consolation. She had heard stories 
of designing women who consulted doctors regularly for 
ailments that did not actually require medical attention. 
But she caught herself up, realizing how foolishly jealous 
she was allowing herself to become in pursuing this line 
of thought. 

“You should try and accommodate yourself to my 
plans,” Blake advised her on her return, suddenly finding 
himself possessed of a courage he had heretofore lacked 
in her presence. “I’d gladly do that much for you.” 


BEYOND PARADISE 


1 7 


“Why, of course, Don,” she said sweetly, stepping out 
into the corridor. “I am really glad we’re going out with 
the Folsoms.” 

He pulled her back into the room and kissed her. 
“You’re a darling,” he said. 

She struggled with a sudden, powerful revulsion of 
feeling, and was unable to answer, receiving his caress 
and kiss with an air of apparent detachment. They en¬ 
tered the elevator and went down together. 

Although there were other hotels in Waverly, all newer 
but none larger than the Dumont, the old hostelry still 
drew the bulk of the business, and the lobby was filled 
and the dining room crowded when they entered. A man, 
his face heavily overcast, was seated at a table in a re¬ 
mote corner; he raised his head suddenly as Marcia and 
Blake entered, as if he had sensed something in the air. 
It was Lyman Curtis. Passing his hands impatiently over 
his eyes as if to clear his vision, his lips curved in a 
sickly smile of recognition. He indicated by a gesture that 
there was room for them at his table, then drew himself 
together and clumsily arose, swaying on his feet as he 
waited for them to approach. 

“Drinking!” said Marcia under her breath. “He’s posi¬ 
tively drunk.” 

This was humiliating. Still, it was a relief to her that 
Blake did not know she had believed Curtis when he 
promised, shortly before her marriage, never to drink in¬ 
toxicating liquors again. Being aware that intoxicated 
men usually babble a lot of nonsense, she tried to avoid 
taking a seat at his table, but was forced to do so on 
finding all the other tables fully occupied. 

“Was just hoping someone would come along I knew,” 
Curtis greeted them. “This is sort of an off-in-a-corner 
place here; private little nook, as it were. I want to talk 
to you. Both of you. Have lots to say. S’pose you 
haven’t heard that I’m going to leave you ?” 

“No,” said Blake, “I had not.” 

“Well, I am. Going to live where there are more 
people.” 

“Is that so!” 

“Yes, sir.” 


i8 


BEYOND PARADISE 


‘‘Getting too exclusive for ordinary society ?” Marcia 
suggested, her manner rather strained. 

“Maybe so, Marcia—I mean, Mrs. Blake—Mrs. 
Blake! Sounds funny to call you that, doesn’t it? Yes, 
I am going to live in Washington—Just came from there 
—The Williston land office has been ordered closed— 
Mighty glad it came about—If it hadn’t, you’d probably 
have seen me buried there some day.” 

“Williston has a nice cemetery,” Marcia facetiously re¬ 
minded him. 

Curtis continued, not to be interrupted. 

“Came down to see a few of my friends before leaving 
next week; you know, when it comes to saying adieu to 
people you’ve known all your life, it isn’t the easiest thing 
in the world. However, I suppose there are worse things 
than that.” He turned directly to Marcia, claiming her 
undivided attention. “You know there are, don’t you? 
Remember ?” 

“How will they ever get along without you in Willis¬ 
ton?” she teased, ignoring his impertinence. “You are 
practically a necessity down there.” 

“Never really thought of that very seriously,” he re¬ 
torted, musingly. “They’ll have to sort of flounder along 
until they accustom themselves to the changed conditions.” 

“That will be a difficult thing to do.” 

“You know, don’t you?” 

Marcia raised her brows. “Oh, yes.” 

“However great my loss to the town may be, it will not 
effect it as your departure did. You are the one who is 
missed; your leaving put the town under chloroform.” 

He was talking loud enough to be heard by the people 
at nearby tables, and Marcia was painfully embarrassed. 
She was convincing herself that he was not too thoroughly 
intoxicated to know what he was either doing or saying, 
and realized it was best not to torment him or he might 
embarrass her further. So she retorted lightly, “It’s a 
considerable shock to a community losing two of its best 
people so near together.” 

“You’re great on valuation,” he retorted, patting her 
arm familiarly. “You’re all right, girlie.” 

His actions were disconcerting in the extreme. Marcia 


BEYOND PARADISE 


19 


turned to look at Blake, but he had nothing to say. Those 
eyes that she had studied so intently when he had spoken 
to her about Mrs. Folsom were more troubled than she 
liked to see them. 

As if aroused by her apprehensive gaze, Blake rallied 
himself to her support, saying, “I’m glad to hear that you 
are bettering yourself, Lyman. Your ability entitles you 
to something more profitable than anything you’ve had in 
Williston. Washington will afford you opportunities you 
could never hope for out here.” 

The other laughed boisterously; he was at that stage 
of pompous intoxication where he could regard Blake as 
insignificant. “In other words,” he retorted, “you’re glad 
to see me go.” 

His words and attitude were becoming extremely dis¬ 
tasteful to the physician. “Don’t make a fool of your¬ 
self!” he advised. “You’ve got everybody in the room 
listening to you. And your talk doesn’t sound very well!” 

Curtis turned to scan the guests. “I should worry,” he 
said. “Nobody knows me.” Then, leaning close to 
Marcia, he continued in a lowered tone. “Marriage 
doesn’t always signify choice, does it?” 

Marcia made no reply. It was useless to argue or rea¬ 
son with him. 

“Silence speaks louder than words,” he taunted, when 
she had nothing to say. “Well, it’s too bad.” 

Blake felt a strong desire to get up and thrash the in¬ 
solent fellow. He was powerful enough to do it with¬ 
out drawing an extra breath, but out of consideration for 
his wife, he was not inclined to create a scene, so he re¬ 
strained himself, in silence. Marcia, more accustomed to 
Curtis’ drunken maunderings, could find humor in what 
she considered his rather amusing behavior. Still, she was 
not anxious to see her husband suffer humiliation at the 
hand of her former admirer. 

“I want you to stop talking that way!” she admon¬ 
ished. “I am happier now than I’ve ever been,” she added 
from the depths of her heart. “You know, a good many 
people tremble when they say ‘I do,’ wondering if they 
love enough to truly say it. Well, I didn’t tremble.” 

Curtis was eating lump sugar and drinking great quan- 


20 


BEYOND PARADISE 


tities of water, and the combination seemed to have a 
sobering effect on him. He tried to interpret Marcia’s 
remarks as humorous, but nevertheless could not refrain 
from drawling a stinging retort. “Well, money does 
carry a lot of joy with it.” 

“Yes,” agreed Marcia, pretending to consider the mat¬ 
ter seriously, “it’s a nice thing to have lying around.” 

Blake smiled complacently as he recalled how utterly 
chagrined Curtis had been by the failure of his courtship; 
still, the knowledge that he had not fully recovered from 
his disappointment was a trifle disconcerting, for a poor 
loser is liable to be troublesome. He studied Marcia a little 
guiltily, wondering if she was still the rather flighty girl 
he had known, still so unstable that he would be forced 
to warn this fellow to keep away from his wife. 

The sugar and water had nearly sobered Curtis, and he 
was becoming rapidly less groggy and more in command 
of himself. As the two men were seated at the table, 
one on either side of her, Marcia compared them as she 
had never had an opportunity to do before. They were 
as unlike in both physical and mental traits as it was 
possible for two men to be. Blake was a large, rather 
awkward man, who seldom indulged in and had very 
little to say about matters frivolous. A tireless worker, 
he preferred his exacting rounds of calls and difficult 
hours in the operating room even to the sports he loved 
so well. 

His deep blue eyes were bright with intelligence. His 
well-shaped head, set close to the shoulders of a large, 
almost cumbersome frame, was profusely covered with 
light, wavy hair, that seemed always ready for the barber. 
He was queer, terse, original; but that was the way 
Marcia liked him. If he had been other than that he 
might have failed to attract her so infinitely. She ad¬ 
mired him for what he was, not for what he might be¬ 
come in the future, although she had visions of him at¬ 
taining great things. He seldom smiled, much less laugh¬ 
ed, and when he did, there was no doubt that he was de¬ 
lightfully entertained. It was because he had smiled a 
few moments ago that Marcia knew he had no aversion 
for Lyman Curtis other than the inevitable one a man 


BEYOND PARADISE 


21 


must feel for his wife’s former sweetheart. That meant 
much to her. 

Marcia turned her attention to Curtis. His skin was 
dark, and his eyes and hair so black that his origin was a 
matter of speculation. His build was lithe, and perfectly 
proportioned. He smiled almost constantly and his smile 
often deepened into noisy laughter, even when it was 
rather uncalled for. He was affable and courteous to the 
point of affectation, insisting that his little courtesies be 
accepted even when his persistency made those about him 
uncomfortable. His hands, one weighted with a superb 
two-carat diamond, seldom raised anything heavier in the 
performance of actual labor than a pen or pencil, though 
they were conspicuous in the frequent adjustment of 
his immaculate tie and collar. 

He was the elegant fellow, responsible to no one ex¬ 
cept those to whom he owed political allegiance in re¬ 
turn for the position he held. His method of dealing with 
people was marred by a sort of suave callousness, but so 
clever was he in this that the majority of those with 
whom he came in contact were profuse in their praises 
of his kindness and honesty. 

The waiter brought their meal, and as the two men 
conversed while they were dining, Marcia listened to 
them intently. Blake was intent upon business, the fu¬ 
ture of Waverly, their new home and kindred subjects. 
Curtis talked about distant people, distant cities, distant 
countries. Marcia admired this; it seemed to indicate 
a depth of experience which she envied. 

Just here the waiter approached Blake and informed 
him that he was wanted on the telephone. He excused 
himself with courteous formality, and his politeness 
pleased Marcia, for, when they were rivals for her, 
Curtis had often spoken of Blake as an uncouth “rough¬ 
neck.” He certainly had never given her reason to make 
such a charge, but as she looked after his retreating figure, 
she wondered if anyone beside herself had ever noted 
his ill-fitting clothes and boorish swagger. 

“I am wanted at the hospital at once,” he announced 
on his return. “If you are not busy this evening, Lyman, 


22 


BEYOND PARADISE 


you might take Marcia to a picture show. I’ll join you 
as soon as I can get away.” 

“That will be fine,” returned Curtis. “I had planned 
on going—alone. They have announced an extraordinary 
‘feature’ for tonight.” 

“You’ll hurry, won’t you, dear?” Marcia urged Blake. 
“I want you to see the show, too.” 

“I won’t be gone long,” he assured her. “That D. T. 
patient has gone on a rampage again.” 

It seemed to Marcia that he was in a great hurry about 
getting away. As her eyes followed him leaving the 
room, she wondered if a pretty nurse was perhaps caring 
for the violent patient. 

On the way to the theatre Marcia kept looking for 
Blake, thinking he might be waiting for them somewhere 
along their route, knowing he had had plenty of time to 
minister to the delirious patient, upon whom he had paid 
emergency calls for a week. But once arrived and seated 
in the theatre, the picture held her undivided attention, 
and she soon forgot about the little hurt Blake’s tardiness 
had caused her. She followed the plot in the picture 
closely, oblivious to everything but the scenes and actors 
on the screen. The show was ended before she thought 
of Blake again. 

“What can have been keeping Don so long?” she 
speculated as they came out. 

“You shouldn’t be suspicious,” admonished Curtis. 
“Doctors, you know, are likely to be detained any time. 
That’s the nice part about being a doctor.” 

But it was not in defense of Blake that he had spoken; 
on the other hand, he was deliberately trying to shake her 
confidence in him. Although Curtis was now perfectly 
sober, he was still intent on causing trouble, if possible, 
between Blake and the girl he himself had hoped to marry. 

Marcia stopped in a public booth to telephone. “He 
just left the hospital,” she explained when she came back. 
“Let us walk in that direction and meet him.” 

“Let’s walk slowly,” urged Curtis, when she was in¬ 
clined to hurry. “He’ll be coming this way, anyway. 
The night is splendid, the moon perfect. I want to walk 
and talk as we used to . . . Those memories of 


BEYOND PARADISE 


23 


other days, Marcia !” He looked down at her and saw 
she was gazing blankly at the path in front of them. 
“Those were the happy days of doubt and hope, ,, he con¬ 
tinued. “They were just painful enough to make me 
wish for more. I hate to admit it, but I am a poor loser. 
To think that—” 

“Oh, please go on,” she begged him mockingly, de¬ 
termined to tantalize him. They were alone now, and 
anything he might say would not be misinterpreted. “You 
are so much more effective sentimental than when you 
try to be serious.” 

“You’ve kidded me out of every serious notion I ever 
had,” he lamented, “and see where you left me—high and 
dry!” 

What he told her struck home, and she resented the 
twinge of conscience it cost her. “Don’t be silly, Lyman,” 
she expostulated. 

“I’m not silly!” he protested. 

“You don’t think you are, that’s all.” 

“I know blamed well what’s troubling me, and I also 
know what you think is troubling me. That’s not it. I’ll 
admit I’ve taken a few drinks, but my senses are per¬ 
fectly clear. I know pretty well what I’m talking about 
when I tell you I’ll never stop—” 

“Drinking?” she mocked him. 

“No!” he said, testily. “I wish you’d think of me as 
a man when I tell you I’ll never get over loving you—” 

She broke in angrily: “Have you ever honestly tried 
to do something you found difficult?” 

“Well,” he considered, “I don’t think I ever found it 
necessary.” 

“Then create an obligation for yourself and meet it 
squarely. You’ll never amount to anything if you go on 
as you are.” 

“You are partly to blame for what I am.” 

“It is unthinkable that I should be as influential as 
that,” retorted Marcia, deeply sarcastic. 

“That’s all right,” he said sullenly. “Go ahead and 
laugh at me all you want. You can’t hurt me any more 
than you already have.” 

“Hurt you?” 


24 


BEYOND PARADISE 


“Yes . . . ! Everything bad I’ve ever done I can 

lay to you.” 

“Including your drunken condition when we met you at 
the hotel tonight, I suppose,” suggested Marcia. 

“Yes, by God!” 

Marcia sniffed. “You remember, you promised me 
you’d give up drinking. I was dumbfounded when I saw 
the condition you were in this evening; had it not been 
that I didn’t want Donald to know that I was ashamed 
of you I would have ignored you when you staggered to¬ 
ward us in the dining room.” 

“So you were ashamed of me?” 

“Yes—I was—very much.” 

They walked on in silence, Marcia watching for Blake. 
When they reached the hospital, and she had seen nothing 
of him, she went in to inquire; the night-nurse told her 
he had left nearly half an hour before. Curtis seemed 
pleased when she came back without him. 

“Missed him?” he asked. 

Marcia nodded her head. “It seems we did.” 

They started back silently in the direction of the hotel, 
as if tired of baiting each other. The night air was heavy 
with the fragrance of flowers, and its stillness was dis¬ 
turbed only by the occasional hum of motors and the 
twitter of katydids. 

“Marcia,” said Lyman, breaking the long silence that 
had lasted until they were within sight of the hotel. “I 
am sorry—very sorry because I gave you reason to be 
disappointed in me. My promise was made with absolute 
sincerity, with no other thought than to fulfill it, but you 
changed everything.” 

“How did I change things ?” 

“Your marriage—it throttled every ambition in me. As 
long as I felt I had an even chance, my whole life, my 
very soul, was fired with the hope that some day we would 
work out our problems together; but when you chose be¬ 
tween Blake and me, and I lost, there was no future left 
for me. Brooding over it made me reckless and I did 
some terrible things!” 

“Terrible things! Surely nothing really terrible, Ly¬ 
man !” Instinctively she grasped his arm; in the dimness of 


BEYOND PARADISE 


25 


the distant lights he observed her face close to his. He 
turned his head away, tortured by the thought that she 
belonged to someone else. 

“Yes, terrible things. In fact, I cannot think of suit¬ 
able words to describe what I have done.” 

Marcia was haunted by fearful visions of the deeds he 
might have committed, but her imagination failed her 
in conjuring up anything really frightful enough to war¬ 
rant his emphasis. They walked on in silence. 

When they reached the hotel, Blake was waiting for 
them. He was sorry that he had not been able to meet 
them at the theatre, he said, speaking in his customary 
word-saving manner. Then he went on to explain further, 
addressing Marcia in particular. “On my way over from 
the hospital I stopped at the drug store to write a pre¬ 
scription, and I saw the painter there. He tells me that 
the house will be ready for us to move in this week.” 

“Then we had better decline Mrs. Folsom’s invitation 
for Thursday evening. We will be busy and tired. I am 
anxious to get away from here; living in a hotel isn’t al¬ 
together pleasant.” 

“Well, there are worse things than that,” he briefly 
dismissed the subject. “A day or two more of it is really 
immaterial.” 

Blake did not want to forego the projected party. He 
had plans that included more than the mere golfing and 
lunching at the Country Club,—so Marcia’s thoughts ran. 

“I don’t blame you for wanting to get into your own 
home,” interposed Curtis, siding with Marcia. “A cus¬ 
tom-made existence is all right if you can’t have any 
other.” 

Marcia had experienced a strong revulsion of feeling 
against Curtis because of what he had told her, and she 
was anxious to avoid further conversation with him. 
Ignoring him, she turned to her husband. “You told me 
sometime ago you were anxious to make the change. You 
remember, don’t you?” 

“Of course,” he assured her. “It isn’t through any 
preference of mine that we are staying here, but I don’t 
think we should disappoint the Folsoms on account of it.” 


26 BEYOND PARADISE 

Marcia did not reply. She was studying Blake un¬ 
easily. 

“Mrs. Folsom is my fairy aunt,” Curtis volunteered. 

“Fairy aunt?” echoed Marcia, surprised out of her 
dislike of him. “That’s the first time I ever heard of 
anything like that.” 

“A fairy aunt is one of those helpful souls children 
dream about,” he explained. 

Blake looked at Curtis skeptically, and Marcia, inter¬ 
preting her husband’s expression to suit herself, became 
more firmly convinced that it was all to her advantage 
to become more intimately acquainted with the fairy 
aunt. All she said was, “You’d better buy that thermos 
jug at Moore’s, Don. Mr. Folsom looks to me as if we 
ought to have something cold along to drink.” 

Jfc sK * 

As is often the case when a new house is being prepared 
for occupancy, there was an unexpected delay in getting 
the place ready, which kept the Blakes at the hotel for 
another fortnight. There seemed to be no end to Marcia’s 
energy during that time. She attended breakfasts, club 
meetings, luncheons and card parties almost daily, though 
a Folsom house-party, where she met the remainder of 
Waverly’s elite, was the most important activity that 
claimed her attention. This function, which was at first 
limited to half a dozen people, was eventually expanded 
to include forty, and it was the last she attended before 
taking up her duties as housewife. 

There were plenty of other things to claim her attention 
beside the discharge of her social duties. There were the 
final touches to be given the house,—dusting, arranging 
the furniture, laying rugs, unpacking dishes and glassware, 
hanging curtains and draperies, and looking after a 
thousand other things. For several days she supervised 
and lent a helping hand everywhere. Often her pretty 
nose was smudged with black where she had rubbed it 
with grimy-gloved hand; and frequently a wisp of tousled, 
glistening black hair, that had slipped beneath the elastic 
band of her dust-cap, strayed across her face. When 
her presence was not required to oversee the man and 
woman who were ostensibly doing the work, she found 


BEYOND PARADISE 


27 


time to accompany Blake on drives. In return, he stole 
time enough from his pressing medical and surgical prac¬ 
tice to take her to dancing parties at night. 

Eventually the day came when their house was ready 
for occupancy, and they had eaten their last noon-day meal 
as regular boarders at the Dumont hotel. Blake had to 
leave immediately for a distant town in response to a 
telephone call for consultation with a colleague. “Try 
and get back in time for supper,” Marcia begged him. 
“The cleaners up at the house are working straight 
through so they’ll finish early. I didn’t want them around 
to bother me while I’m cooking.” 

Blake looked at her a bit dubiously. 

“You seem to doubt that I can cook,” she protested, 
noting his skepticism. 

“Oh, no,” he assured her. “I was just thinking what 
wonderful creatures women are.” 

“I’m going to concoct something delicious,” she boasted 
gaily. 

“What?” 

“I won’t tell. You hurry back and find out.” 

“Watch me.” 

She went out to the car with him, and he made a great 
pretense of hurrying to get away from her. His light¬ 
hearted manner pleased Marcia, indeed she was finding 
everything he said and did absolutely perfect. 

“I really mean it,” she reiterated. “Hurry back and 
you’ll be surprised.” 

Blake had visions of a moving picture comedy he had 
recently seen, depicting the culinary difficulties of a bride. 
“I believe you will surprise me. Confidence like yours 
can accomplish a lot.” 

“You’ll see,” she insisted enigmatically, choosing to dis¬ 
regard what looked like a lack of faith in her abilities. 

“At what time will you have supper ready?” 

“At six o’clock.” 

“I’ll try and be on time.” 

“Well, of course, I’ll wait if you’re not here by then.” 

“I’ll be back at six,” he promised, starting away. 

Punctuality was a virtue that had contributed largely 
to Blake’s success, as Marcia well knew, and when she 


28 


BEYOND PARADISE 


reached the house she urged the workers to greater efforts 
in her eagerness to get them out of the way early. She 
wanted to assure herself an abundance of time in which 
to put to the test some of the things she had learned in 
a domestic science course, a few of which she felt con¬ 
fident she still remembered. 

It was nearly three o’clock when the helpers left; they 
had scarcely reached the street before Marcia was eagerly 
scanning the pages of a ponderous cook-book, the con¬ 
tents of which seemed to have undergone some mysterious 
transformation, for they were all totally unfamiliar to 
her now. Then she got out some recipes her mother had 
written and by which she had cooked when she was a 
child. It occurred to her that she had never prepared a 
full meal at home, her share never having been more than 
the baking of a cake or the concocting of a single dish, 
when she helped her mother, and she suddenly realized 
the vast difference between one and several boiling pots. 
A horrible sensation of inadequacy surged through her as 
she realized her helplessness. Here she was in the 
vortices of a responsibility she had refused to regard 
seriously, only to find that it was utterly impossible for 
her to comprehend the simple formulas by which her 
mother had worked. 

Her back was, metaphorically, to the wall. She re¬ 
membered that her mother had several times told her 
that the best cooking is not done with the aid of a 
cook-book, so she set aside the volume, selected a variety 
of utensils from the pantry, and proceeded to put into 
execution what she had learned and forgotten years ago. 
She timed herself by the clock, finding she was progress¬ 
ing so rapidly that it would be necessary for her to check 
her progress or she would be more than an hour in ad¬ 
vance of the schedule she had planned. So it was with 
pleasure that she saw Mrs. Donhagen, her widowed 
neighbor across the street, who had come over every day 
for several weeks, attracted by Marcia’s bewildering ac¬ 
tivity, come ambling up the steps to make her daily visit. 
Marcia met her at the door, having learned enough about 
the peculiar old lady to know that she would not knock 
or ring the bell to announce her presence. 


BEYOND PARADISE 


29 


“I saw the help leaving,” said Mrs. Donhagen as she 
waddled in, “and I says to myself, says I, ‘they must be 
all moved in’.” She raised her head to sniff the air. 
“Uh, cooking something good, too, ain’t you?” she added. 

“Yes, I made some pies and things.” 

“I thought as much,” replied the woman, but looked 
dubiously at Marcia’s beautifully-kept hands. “Sure, you 
don’t intend to do all your own housework?” 

“Of course I do! I’m a good cook, and I love doing it. 
Just made some of the grandest cookies! I’ll give you 
some to take home. I want you to sample them and tell 
me what you think of them.” 

The old lady followed Marcia into the kitchen. “This 
is the nicest room in the whole house,” she remarked as 
she entered. 

Marcia smiled incredulously. “Do you think so?” 

“Yes, it has the most in it.” She took the cookies 
Marcia proffered her and began nibbling one. “Uhm-m, 
child, these are good.” 

“I think so myself. Come, I want you to see my 
dining room.” 

Mrs. Donhagen inspected the dining room critically. “A 
rich man like Doctor Blake could have his house crammed 
full of the nicest things money can buy,” she said as they 
returned to the living room, visibly disappointed with the 
grade and amount of the furniture. She regretted her 
remark when she saw that it disturbed Marcia. Then, 
settling her pursy self in a rocker, she watched Marcia 
place her allotment of cookies on a table. “I mustn’t 
forget those,” she mused. “They’re the best I’ve tasted 
for I don’t know how long.” 

Mrs. Donhagen’s kindly-meant criticism had made Mar¬ 
cia feel decidedly uncomfortable. It worried her because 
she had several times heard it casually hinted that Blake 
was inclined to penuriousness. 

“I s’pose I’d better be going soon,” said Mrs. Donhagen 
uneasily, “bein’ you are busy getting supper.” 

Disregarding the woman’s attempt at conciliation, Mar¬ 
cia crossed the room and turned to make a survey. “So 
you think I haven’t enough in my house?” 

“Mercy, yes! Plenty—there’s plenty,” Mrs. Donhagen 


30 


BEYOND PARADISE 


hastened to assure her. “I was just thinking what a fine 
table that is.” She straightened up suddenly. “What 
have you in that there room?” With her thumb she in¬ 
dicated the room designated in the plans as the maid’s 
room. “You didn’t have it fixed up the last time I was 
here.” 

“There’s nothing in it yet. We haven’t any use for it 
just now. I think I’ll convert it into a children’s play¬ 
room after a while.” 

“That’ll be nice. Doctor Blake likes children so; they’re 
always hanging around him. . . . But they are a 

nuisance!” 

“What’s a nuisance?” 

“Children!” 

“Do you, a mother, really mean that?” 

“I sure do! You’ll find out—sometime.” And she 
shook her head dismally. “Yes, they’re sure a trouble 
and nuisance.” 

Marcia wondered. She wanted the old lady to con¬ 
tinue, but the sound of a motor outside interrupted them. 
She went to the window to find Blake driving with great 
caution up the two narrow strips of concrete that led into 
the garage; it was the first time he had attempted it, and 
his facial expression was a study in concentration. 

“I’ll be going,” repeated Mrs. Donhagen, edging toward 
the door. “See you again soon.” 

When Mrs. Donhagen had gone, Marcia opened the 
window. Blake had climbed out of the automobile and 
was walking toward the street inspecting the driveway. 
When he heard the window open he turned around. 

“It requires steady driving, doesn’t it?” Marcia offered. 

“The curves are too sharp,” he complained. “The con¬ 
tractor didn’t build it the way I told him to.” 

“It will be bad on dark nights,” she suggested. “You’ll 
have to be careful.” 

“Well,” he considered, “darkness isn’t going to be so 
troublesome. The lights will take care of that. But I 
don’t know how I’ll make it when it’s icy and slippery. 
At any rate, I can’t take it on the run without risking 
my neck.” 


BEYOND PARADISE 


3i 

“Then don’t try to take it on the run,” she warned him. 
“I am too young to be a widow.” 

He liked her method of calling his attention to his ill- 
natured complaint, and he desisted from further grum¬ 
bling, though mentally resolved that the driveway should 
receive prompt attention. He walked past the window 
and up the driveway steps to the porch. Marcia hurried 
out to meet him with the evening paper, holding up her 
face to be kissed. 

“It isn’t quite six o’clock,” she reminded him, “so you 
sit down and read the paper while I put the things on 
the table.” 

“I’ll help,” he said, anxious to see how everything 
looked in its final arrangement. “May I?” 

“Surely, if you want to.” 

They went in. Forgetting at once that he had intended 
to help Marcia, Blake walked solemnly from room to 
room realizing for the first time that he was in his own 
home. Marcia, busy in the kitchen and dining room, 
stopped now and then to enjoy his pleasure with 1 him. 
He had been badly overworked lately, too busy to make 
suggestions that would mirror his tastes, and as he looked 
about, he saw Marcia reflected everywhere. Going slowly 
from one room to another, he occasionally felt a qualm 
that he had not provided the means for buying better 
furnishings, but on the whole he was happier than he had 
thought it was possible for a man to be. Everything was 
superlatively perfect. In their bedroom, over the head 
of the bed, hung a picture of a mother holding her babe, 
and on the mat beneath the picture were the words: “My 
darling.” 

“Lovely,” he explained under his breath. 

He was still admiring the picture when Marcia entered 
and taking him by the arm, led him to the table. His 
shrewd eyes took in at a glance the perfection of the 
meal she had prepared. He knew now that he had not 
misjudged her; she was the most wonderful woman in the 
world. 

“Marcia,” he said, taking her in his arms, “this is para¬ 
dise!” He continued to hold her close to him for many 
thrilling seconds, during which their passionate love 


32 


BEYOND PARADISE 


flamed hotly. She felt most completely herself in his 
powerful arms, that closed about her like a vise, and when 
he had smothered her with kisses and was ready to re¬ 
lease her, she sighed for more. He understood now what 
she meant when she had rather ambiguously expressed 
her desire to be without a maid: she wanted to be un¬ 
disturbed when they loved like this. 


Chapter II 

Although separated by more than fifty miles of fertile 
farming country, there existed a spirit of friendly rivalry 
between Williston and Waverly; it was this spur of com¬ 
petition that tended to give both places a somewhat 
metropolitan air, in spite of their relative smallness and 
unimportance. Both towns boasted several thriving fac¬ 
tories and prosperous business houses, and as a conse¬ 
quence, a few wealthy residents. The municipal improve¬ 
ments were not of the best, but they were sufficiently up- 
to-date to attract the attention of the officials of surround¬ 
ing towns, who had twice, within the past five years, sent 
representatives to find out how Williston and Waverly 
succeeded in keeping taxes at a minimum. And once a 
year the four leading department stores sent their buyers 
east to make purchases and study the metropolitan mar¬ 
kets. 

Waverly was much the older of the two places, having 
been a town of considerable size when the first railroad 
reached it; but in recent years Williston had grown until 
now it out-populated its rival by nearly a thousand. 
Williston enjoyed the advantage of being situated on a 
main-line railroad, the junction of several important 
branches; while Waverly was the common terminus of 
three rail lines radiating in six directions, the roads having 
utilized it as a means of conveniently reaching other 
points rather than because its own traffic was particularly 
valuable. 

Even though the entire population of the two towns 
numbered only a little over twenty thousand, each had an 
exclusive hill-district bearing a piquant agnomen to de¬ 
note that it was the residence of the idle-rich. Marcia 
had not lived in this select district in Williston nor was 
she living in it in Waverly, but since she had been much 
sought after by Williston society during her vacations, 
and had recently been elected to an important official posi- 


34 


BEYOND PARADISE 


tion in the club, some of the Waverly folks felt that per¬ 
haps they had gained a point when she relinquished her 
hold on Williston and became one of their set. 

But the group that she had come in contact with since 
her marriage had not regarded her seriously enough to 
study her closely, thinking of her merely as a school 
teacher who was not sufficiently important to bother over. 
She had not made a very favorable impression among her 
new associates, and they were inclined to judge the rest 
of Williston by her complacent conduct. If they were 
right then, Waverly was after all really the more attrac¬ 
tive of the two towns. As yet, Waverly had been unable 
to fathom her. She was under discussion when the 
Blakes and the Folsoms arrived together, for the second 
time within the week, at the Country Club. 

“What do you think of that Mrs. Blake?” asked one 
of a quartet of women drinking tea on the club house 
veranda. 

“She’s a puzzle to me,” admitted one of them. 

“Not to me,” declared another. “Birds of a feather—” 
She broke off and looked meaningly at Mrs. Folsom. 
“You know,” she added. 

“Her family is one of the very nicest in Williston. I 
was a neighbor to them for nine years.” The fourth 
woman rose to Marcia’s defense. 

The group devoted themselves to their teacups until 
the arrivals finally decided upon the shade of the huge 
sycamore tree on the lawn as a place for supper, leaving 
the coast clear for uninterrupted gossip. 

“It’s too bad we can’t all marry money,” chirped the 
woman who had said Marcia puzzled her, “now, isn’t it, 
girls ?” And because at least two of the women had made 
money their matrimonial object, the unfortunate remark 
broke up the tea-party. My! My!! One of them had to 
hurry home now. She had enjoyed herself so much that 
she had failed to notice how the time was flying. Another 
had to meet her husband at the store. She always went to 
the store to ride home with him on Friday evenings. 
******** 

“Doctor Blake and I’ll play a round of golf,” the 
ponderous Folsom informed his wife as he proceeded 


BEYOND PARADISE 


35 


toward a table with two baskets, limping more than usual, 
for he was unable to use his cane to steady himself be¬ 
cause of the huge baskets he was carrying. He placed 
them on a bench, puffing. “We’ll play around once. . . 

You might unpack this stuff and get it ready to eat when 
you see us coming up on number eight.” He indicated the 
eighth green with his thumb. He looked at his wife 
to see if she was listening to his instructions, and when 
he thought she was not, he reiterated brusquely: “That’s 
the eighth green over there.” 

Mrs. Folsom, busily packing something away in the 
shade, said carelessly, “I’ll watch for you.” 

“You’d better be watching those youngsters, too. 
They’re liable to get hurt around those swings and con¬ 
traptions.” 

The children had scurried off to the teeter board, the 
girls seesawing the plank with all their might, while the 
boy stood balancing himself on it precariously. Mrs. 
Folsom threw them a brief word of caution, just to 
accede agreeably to her husband’s wishes. But her warn¬ 
ing seemed but to increase their activity, for they teetered 
with all the more violence. 

“If they were mine,” Marcia made a fervent mental 
resolution, “I’d make them mind.” 

The men secured their golf kits and proceeded to tee 
up, their wives watching them admiringly as they went 
through a series of swings and poses. Finally, they drove 
off—a little nervous because the women were watching 
them. Both were consistently long drivers, but extremely 
erratic about placing their shots. The ball would sail with 
lightning speed from one side of the course to the other, 
twisting and slicing until it finally sought a resting place 
in the tall grass off the fairway on the opposite side from 
which it had started. 

The thought of employing a caddy never entered either 
of their minds, and since they drove into the rough from 
nearly every tee, they wasted a great deal of time looking 
for lost balls. Blake persisted in hunting until his ball 
was recovered, but Folsom was not inclined to waste much 
time in this manner. His lameness made it difficult for 
him to kick around in the thick grass. 


36 


BEYOND PARADISE 


‘‘Charge it to profit and loss,” he would advise Blake. 
“Use another ball.” 

“It’s right in here,” Blake would insist, giving up the 
search reluctantly, “right here where I’ve got it marked.” 

Even though Blake was a careful retriever, they had 
lost four balls apiece when they reached the sixth tee, and 
could continue to play only by using balls they had found 
while looking for their own. 

They had both been playing rather carelessly, too en¬ 
grossed in discussing a government scandal the papers 
were airing to take their game seriously. Folsom changed 
the subject to affairs nearer home, and Blake encouraged 
him by listening with keen interest, intent on proving 
himself a congenial companion to the banker. 

“Would you care to come in with me on a good money¬ 
making proposition?” Folsom asked, as they turned at the 
seventh hole. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about it 
for some time.” 

Blake tried to sound indifferent as he inquired, “What 
is the nature of the proposition?” 

Folsom shook himself into a firmer stance and sent his 
ball sailing with a mighty swing. “I’m thinking of buy¬ 
ing train-load lots of sheep this fall and feeding them 
up,” he explained, turning to Blake when he had “spotted” 
his ball. “Last year I cleared up nearly thirty thousand 
dollars that way. This year I want to go into it on a 
larger scale, but I’m not exactly in a financial position to 
put the thing over alone. I know you’ve got some money 
lying idle. By purchasing the sheep in larger numbers we 
can get them at a comfortable reduction, without requiring 
any extra help to take care of them. You can figure for 
yourself how that will swell the profits.” 

The thought of going into such an ambitious undertak¬ 
ing momentarily staggered Blake; he could see great 
possibilities in a venture of that kind—loss as well as 
gain, either of which was enough to make him uneasy. 
He was between two fires: the fear of a loss that might 
bankrupt him, and the intensely alluring chance of making 
a fortune. 

“I don’t think I want to go into a business I don’t know 
anything about,” he said, declining, and then practically 


BEYOND PARADISE 


37 

accepting in the same breath. “It will be an entirely new 
undertaking for me.” 

“I haven’t spent years of figuring it out to make it a 
losing enterprise,” Folsom asserted. 

“Anything like that has always seemed a little risky to 
me.” 

The banker resorted to high-pressure methods. “Un¬ 
less you’re willing to take a little risk you can’t expect 
to get very far in the big game. There’s a man in this 
town, a shrewd business man, too, who is waiting for me 
to ask him to come in on this. He’s mighty careful about 
the kind of deals he goes into, and if it looked at all risky 
to him, he’d steer shy. It’s a cinch, I tell you. The feed 
is handy and cheap—beet-pulp from the sugar factory. 
They’re glad to get rid of it. I’ve practically got a mo¬ 
nopoly on it, at a little above nothing, so there’s no danger 
of competition as long as I can use all the pulp. This 
business is going to be profitable as long as too many 
others don’t get into it, but since the beet average is being 
increased each year there’ll have to be more sheep fed. 
I’d rather have a friend like you come in with me than 
have outsiders start in on their own hook.” 

But Blake persisted in his caution. “This is too new 
for me to decide quickly.” 

“Well, take your time and think it over.” 

“If I take up a sideline,” Blake went on to explain, 
“I’d rather take hold of something that is more closely 
allied with my profession.” 

“We’ll have nothing directly to do with the feeding and 
handling,” Folsom argued. “Mark O’Day will do that. 

. . . He’s the other man I’m figuring on having 

associated with us.” 

Blake thought a few moments before he spoke again. 
Then he said, in the words of a long-experienced married 
man, “I’ll have to speak to Marcia about it.” 

******** 

The supper baskets were unpacked and their contents 
temptingly arranged on a table when the two men came 
in. Marcia was bringing a pitcher of water from the 
spring, her dark hair reflecting gleams of red in the 
shimmering sunlight. 


38 


BEYOND PARADISE 


“That cold water looks good to me,” said Folsom, pick¬ 
ing up a glass and holding it out to her. “Pour me a 
little.” 

Marcia filled the glass and Folsom gulped down the 
contents. 

“My,” she exclaimed, “you look so warm!” 

“Yes, and you can bet I am, too,” puffed the fat man, 
slushing the perspiration from his forehead. “Gimme 
another glass.” 

Mrs. Folsom was struggling desperately to keep her 
hungry progeny from taking complete charge of the table. 
“Tom,” she called, “come over here and make these 
youngsters behave.” 

“I’d like to manage them for a day,” said Marcia under 
her breath. 

Folsom limped toward the table. “Be good children, 
now,” he said, patting the boy on the head, “or Mamma 
will spank.” 

The deportment of the children and the way their 
parents handled them amused Blake. “A great bunch 
of youngsters,” he said to himself. “But they need dis¬ 
cipline.” 

“Did you have a good game?” asked Mrs. Folsom as 
she distributed cake to her offspring with quieting effect. 

Folsom shook his head in disgust. “Rotten as usual,” 
he said. “Lost about ten dollars’ worth of balls, didn’t 
we, Blake?” 

“I haven’t figured it up yet,” replied the doctor. 

“Thomas, you’ll strain our credit to the breaking point 
some day,” Mrs. Folsom turned the shaft of her wit 
against her husband’s well-known tight-fistedness. “You 
are such a darling old spender!” 

Folsom was just hot and tired enough to resent her 
facetiousness, and human enough to be entirely uncon¬ 
scious of his own inclination to niggardliness, honestly 
believing himself one of the most liberal men in town. 
The charity workers knew that he never declined to buy 
a ticket to their benefits, and he made annual donations 
to the commercial club, the baseball fund, the Y. M. C. A. 
Because he knew that Blake was inclined to stinginess 
he had studied him for a long time before asking him to 


BEYOND PARADISE 


39 


become his partner, and it was only because of Blake’s 
financial standing that he had finally made him the ofifer. 
So he replied to his wife rather surily, “I’ll quit playing 
the game if you think it’s too expensive.” 

“Oh, don’t say that.” 

“I will!” he insisted. 

Mrs. Folsom laughed. “Next winter, of course.” 

He smiled, for he knew better than anyone the folly 
of his threat; he would rather lose his right arm than 
stop playing golf. It was a game he thoroughly enjoyed, 
although he played it very poorly, often losing no small 
sum of money when it so happened that he fell in with 
the proper company; he was continually declaring that he 
would square matters as soon as he got back in form. But 
he never did. 

In a desire to make himself helpful, he limped up to 
the table carrying two chairs. There he stopped to watch 
Marcia while she restored order among the children. 
They had eaten what their mother had given them and 
were again getting restive. Marcia was employing some¬ 
thing new to him in the way of strategy; he did not un¬ 
derstand her methods any more than the children did, 
though they seemed to have a mysteriously quieting effect. 

“The trick is in knowing how,” he complimented her. 
“And I guess you know how.” 

“Probably I could play golf, too,” she suggested, 
smiling. “I mean, as badly as you do.” 

“I don’t turn in such a terrible score as you might 
think,” he said, defending himself. He relieved his wife 
of the chairs she was bringing up. “When I hit the pellet 
more than fifty times I say my game is rotten,” he con¬ 
tinued to explain. “Lots of the fellows come out here 
and play above sixty and think they’re doing mighty well.” 

“I’d like to watch you play. . . Possibly I could 

learn the game.” 

The banker’s rotund face brightened. “Sure you 
could,” he assured her. “I’m the best little teacher you 
ever saw.” 

“It looks easy,” offered Mrs. Folsom, and Blake sug¬ 
gested that the women make a try after supper. 


40 BEYOND PARADISE 

“That’s a fine idea,” agreed Folsom. “Let’s hurry with 
the feed.” 

When they were ready to start, there was less than 
half an hour left for play, so they went to number three 
and began playing on what were known as the inside 
holes, numbers three and four and back on number two. 
Because it was getting late, the men decided not to play 
but caddy for the ladies. 

Mrs. Folsom played all of her strokes with the same 
club, too stubborn to allow anyone to correct her faults. 

“Go mind your own business with those sticks,” she 
told her husband when he attempted to explain the uses 
of a mashie to her. “This one is all I need.” 

Folsom gave her up as hopeless, and assisted Blake in 
teaching Marcia the intricacies of the sport. Marcia, 
anxious to learn all she could, was careful to observe 
everything she was told regarding stance, carrying 
through, keeping her eye on the ball, and much other 
silly-sounding advice. As often happens, she played a 
very creditable game for a beginner, thereby more com¬ 
pletely winning Folsom’s admiration and respect. 

“It isn’t nearly as difficult or fatiguing as tennis,” she 
gave her verdict when she returned to the club house. “I 
like it.” 

“We’ll have to come out often,” Folsom urged, as he 
turned the kits over to the caretaker. “You’ve got the 
earmarks that tell me you can go out and pull down prizes 
before very long.” He regarded her shapely arms with 
something more than impersonal interest, and it was with 
apparent difficulty that he restrained himself from touch¬ 
ing them. “You’re the perfect golfing type. You have 
the muscle to develop a long drive.” 

Marcia showed her pleasure with a smile. 

******** 

On the way home Folsom had spoken casually to 
Marcia of his offer to take Blake into business with him. 
She was pondering over it while she put the remnants of 
their picnic supper in the refrigerator, and later when 
she joined Blake on the front porch. He had assumed 
his usual recumbent position in the porch-swing; dusk 
was coming on and he was reading the evening paper 


BEYOND PARADISE 


4i 


with difficulty in the waning light, apparently undisturbed 
by the activities of an electric fan going full tilt behind 
him. 

“Doesn’t that fan bother you, Don?” she asked. 

“I don’t mind it,” Blake told her, holding the paper 
firmly to keep it from flopping. “This is the coolest place 
I’ve found today.” 

She turned on a floor lamp at his elbow. “I’ll fix a 
cool drink for you,” she offered. “I saved some chips 
of ice that wouldn’t go into the refrigerator.” 

“That would be fine. . . You might switch on the 

other light before you go in.” 

Marcia accommodatingly turned on the ceiling light, 
looking back for the “thank you” he had never omitted 
before their marriage, and went on in when he seemed 
oblivious to everything but the paper he was reading. At 
first these trifling inattentions annoyed her, but she was 
rapidly adjusting her likes and dislikes to conform with 
the matter-of-fact ways of married life. 

When she reappeared on the porch she was carrying a 
salver with a silver pitcher, three glasses, and a plate of 
cookies. Placing the tray on a wicker settee near the 
swing and filling the glasses, she asked expectantly, 
“How’s that?” 

“That clicking sounds good,” he told her. “But I can 
get along without the cookies.” 

“Then I’ll take them over to poor Mrs. Donhagen. . . 

I’m going to give her a glass of lemonade, too.” 

Blake looked across the street where the bent old 
woman was digging in her garden, her figure barely dis¬ 
cernible in the gloaming. “Yes, poor Mrs. Donhagen.” 

“Isn’t she poor?” 

“She’s rich.” 

“She dresses terribly—and the hovel she lives in! I 
thought she was living in poverty.” 

He took one of the glasses of lemonade Marcia had 
poured. “My dear, that woman owns more property than 
any other person in town. Nobody knows how rich she 
is. Hard work and saving did it. You can see for your¬ 
self,—seventy years old and breaking her back fussing 
in that garden.” 


42 


BEYOND PARADISE 


“I don’t care how rich she is, she’s a poor old creature 
just the same.” She picked up the plate. Then she hesi¬ 
tated. “You don’t mind if I take this to her?” 

“Certainly not. . . . Glad to have you do it.” 

He went to the door and opened it for her. She beamed 
her approval of his attentions, observing to herself: “He 
is the most considerate person on earth when his profes¬ 
sional cares are not worrying him.” 

His gaze followed her as she hurried down the con¬ 
crete walk. As she proceeded along Mr. Donhagen’s 
beaten path while crossing the street, her left foot, due 
to a peculiar little inward twist she gave it when raising 
it from the ground, kicked up little puffs of dust. He 
smiled as he remembered that she had mildly resented 
his allusion to this peculiarity when they were at Lake 
Lashaway the previous summer. “You wonderful wom¬ 
an,” he breathed to himself. 

Then he resumed his position in the swing—reading. 
As minute after minute slipped away, the darkness deep¬ 
ening, he occasionally peered at the two women over his 
shoulder, who were standing under a street lamp in front 
of Mrs. Donhagen’s house. He wondered what in the 
world they could be talking about so long. He did not 
like the old woman, but he was trying to hide his dislike 
from Marcia. Paradoxically, he looked upon her with 
disfavor because of her miserliness. 

A little later Marcia came hurrying up the steps, saying 
as she flung open the porch door, “Did I stay away too 
long ?” 

He was slow in answering. “Well, no.” 

She crossed over to him, beating a gentle tattoo on his 
cheek. “You’re not angry?” 

“Oh, no. ... Of course not.” But he was— 
rather. Marcia was aware of it, but she knew he would 
soon get over it. 

“Mrs. Donhagen is really quite interesting,” she con¬ 
tinued gaily, “the dear old soul.” 

“Did it please her to have you come over and feed 
her ?” 

Her caressing hand was suddenly withdrawn from his 
face. “I didn’t feed her!” 


BEYOND PARADISE 


43 


He hastened to make amends : “I didn’t mean to offend 
you,” he said. “I think it’s because I get lonely when 
you leave me that makes me feel ugly. I wouldn’t in¬ 
tentionally hurt your feelings for anything in the world, 
only I wondered if she appreciated your act of kindness.” 

“I wasn’t looking for any display of affection from 
her,” Marcia replied a little testily, “so I didn’t notice 
any.” 

“I understand she is touchy about accepting gifts; that 
is, she gives that impression. She wants people to know 
that she is well able to supply her own needs. Still, I’ve 
never known her to refuse favors.” 

“Well, she seemed to be grateful for being remem¬ 
bered.” 

“She’s a queer old lady,” he mused. “I haven’t been 
able to figure her out. I want to understand people pretty 
well before getting too friendly with them.” 

Marcia thought of the Folsoms. How well was he 
acquainted with them? If he did not know Folsom any 
better than he led her to believe he did, it was absurd to 
consider going into partnership with him. But it would 
be unwise to speak of it at this time, with Blake in a 
rather uncertain mood and her own temper on edge. This 
partnership business was too serious a matter to discuss 
in a fit of anger. 

She put it out of her mind and said instead, “Mrs. 
Donhagen seems terribly worried about her son Henry.” 

Blake chuckled. “Two years ago Henry stole seventy 
dollars of the money he was banking for his mother and 
got married with it,” he explained. “He was thirty-three 
at the time, and didn’t have a dime to his name—well, 
maybe he had a few dollars he had saved out of the two- 
dollar weekly allowance his mother had given him ever 
since she took him out of grammar school.” 

Marcia could see nothing amusing in such a situation; 
she had heard something of her neighbor’s deficient son, 
and the whole affair seemed terribly tragic to her. 

“Anything like that is too sad to make sport of, Don,” 
she reproved him. “Misfortunes may come to any of us 
at any time.” 

Blake stretched and yawned and got up. 


44 


BEYOND PARADISE 


“I am going to bed,” he said, disregarding Marcia's re¬ 
marks. “I'll have to get out early in the morning.” 

But once in the house he forgot to go to bed. Either 
he was perturbed or deep in thought. For an hour he 
lolled silent in a chair, alternately staring into space and 
covering sheets of blank paper with figures. All Marcia's 
efforts to distract him were futile. At last, guessing at 
the cause of his pre-occupation, she asked, “What kind 
of an offer was it Mr. Folsom made you? He spoke to 
me about it this evening when we were driving home. 
But he didn’t make himself very clear.” 

“I was just going to talk to you about it,” replied 
Blake, rousing himself, “but I scarcely know where to 
begin; it’s out of my line. For the life of me, I can’t see 
where I’ll find time to fool around with sheep.” 

“Sheep?” 

“Yes, didn’t he tell you about that?” 

“No,” said Marcia, curiously excited. “He just said 
he made you a partnership offer.” 

“Well, that’s it. Feeding sheep.” 

“I understand he’s in that in a big way.” 

“If I go in with him, we’ll handle them by the train¬ 
loads.” 

Marcia was taken aback by the size of the proposition. 

“So many?” 

“Well, of course,” returned Blake, “if I go in I want 
to make it worth while, or stay out of it altogether.” 

“But think of what would happen if you lost!” 

“Yes, that’s something to think about, all right,” he 
agreed. “However, if we wait until a sure-fire proposi¬ 
tion comes along we might wait a long time. I think I'll 
take a shot at this.” 

“Your judgment in matters of that kind is better than 
mine,” Marcia conceded generously, though the whole 
scheme made very little appeal to her. 

Long after they had retired Marcia continued to turn 
over Blake’s contemplated venture in his mind. Why 
were people constantly weighting themselves down with 
cares they could easily avoid? Why was that? What 
was driving Blake to engage in this rather undesirable 
and uncertain business? He was financially situated so 


BEYOND PARADISE 


45 


that he could live the remainder of his life without doing 
another stroke of work. And yet here he was risking 
all he had made. But had she known that destiny had 
taken a hand and was using this means of shaping her 
own future for her, many things that were puzzling her 
would have seemed perfectly clear. 

At the breakfast table the following morning Marcia 
brought up the subject again. “Would you mind telling 
me more about Mr. Folsom?—since you are to become 
associated with him in business/’ 

He wondered what her own honest opinion was of such 
a connection. Confound it! Had she been worrying 
about that all night? She observed with some apprehen¬ 
sion that he was uneasy. 

“Why, no, Marcia,” he answered casually. “I’ll be 
glad to tell you all I know about him. Just what is it 
you want to know ?” 

“What else does he do besides banking and dealing 
in sheep?” 

“Politics.” 

“Politics,” she echoed musingly. “Politics.” 

“And besides that,” Blake continued, “his office in the 
American National Bank is the pivotal point for almost 
every important transaction that takes place in the Third. 
Everyone fears him and he is given a free hand; this is 
not only true in—” 

“What do you mean when you speak of the Third?” 
Marcia interrupted him. 

Blake was provoked by what he considered her stupid¬ 
ity, but he set about enlightening her. He ended his ex¬ 
planation with the advice, “I’d suggest that you post 
yourself on some of these things.” 

“I knew about the Third district,” she insisted, “only 
I am not up on your abbreviations.” 

“Well, then, coming back,” Blake continued, “it is safe 
to say that Folsom was instrumental in the election of 
every public official in this county. He is what is com¬ 
monly known as a political boss.” 

“What public office does he hold?” she asked, conceal- 


46 


BEYOND PARADISE 


ing her surprise at discovering that such a man was their 
intimate friend. 

“None. Political bosses seldom do. To be incumbents 
themselves would put them on a par with those they 
rule.” 

From this he launched into a complicated discussion of 
“machine politics.” Marcia was amazed at his store of 
knowledge. It had never dawned upon her that anything 
outside of medicine and surgery ever entered his mind. 
His reticence before their marriage had obscured his 
really remarkable versatility, which he was now con¬ 
stantly revealing. She had studied political science at 
school, listening to drawling professors who lectured in 
a languid and incomprehensible way. Their explanations 
were purely mechanical and had given her a real distaste 
for the subject. The information her husband had given 
her was not only highly instructive, but interesting as 
well. 

“Of course,” she reassured herself, “your connection 
with Mr. Folsom will only be in a business way.” 

“That’s all. He has a good business head and that is 
why he’s successful in politics. It’s his business ability 
that attracts me. . . I abhor politicians who are suc¬ 

cessful in the political field alone, but I can admire a man 
who is adept in politics because he possesses unusual busi¬ 
ness acumen.” 

“How do you feel about woman’s suffrage?” she asked 
guardedly. 

He gave her a grave, questioning look. How deep was 
her concern in this ? He answered her, “Women are too 
fine to engage in mud-slinging.” 

Everything he said was either a mystery or a revelation 
to her, and therefore fascinating. 

“Mud-slinging,” she repeated. “Is that your only ob¬ 
jection?” 

“It’s the principal one.” 

The toast Marcia was making in the electric grille was 
sending up clouds of smoke. She succeeded in salvaging 
one piece, scraping off the part that was burned black. 
While Blake prepared his soft-boiled eggs, he watched 
her. “If that is what talking politics does,” he said to 


BEYOND PARADISE 


47 


himself, “what is going to happen when women really 
get involved in them?” 

“I was thinking,” said Marcia, looking up, “how won¬ 
derful it is that some women have the courage to attempt 
to clean politics of some of its abuses.” 

“What good does it do?” he blustered. “You can’t 
make me believe that any good is derived from a group 
of people going out and butting their heads against a 
stone wall!” 

“Isn’t there another way of looking at it?” she in¬ 
quired helplessly. 

“Possibly there is.” He glanced at the clock on the 
buffet and then at his watch. “Well, I’m due at the hos¬ 
pital.” 

About twelve o’clock Blake came into the house, 
laughing. “The postman gave me this,” he said, offering 
her a bundle no larger than a shaving stick. He pointed 
to the label: “ ‘Plants—Do not crush.’ It looks like 

nursery stock.” 

“My roses!” she said. “I’ve been looking for them.” 

“You mean to tell me that package contains live plants?” 

“It’s supposed to.” 

Blake laughed scornfully, disconcerting Marcia not at 
all. The plants were not costing her anything, and if 
there was any joke, it was not on her. She had advanced 
her subscription to a magazine two years and had re¬ 
ceived a half dozen rose plants as a premium. 

She took the package and unwrapped it warily, re¬ 
moving several layers of paper, a stratum of moss, tin 
foil, and more paper before she came upon the puny tips 
of the plants and a leaflet protruding from one end of the 
bundle. She hoped Blake was unaware of her disap¬ 
pointment. She scanned them closely, deciding at last 
that they were really plants and had roots. 

“They may amount to something in time,” she said 
with forced cheerfulness. “See, they have roots.” 

“What kind of roses are they ?” Blake wanted to know. 
Then, examining the labels, he read: “ ‘Senator Nelson’ 
—‘Constitution’—‘Dolly Vardon’—‘Blue Devil’—‘General 
Scott’.” The last one to emerge from the waxed paper 


48 


BEYOND PARADISE 


he inspected closely. “This one has no tag,” he an¬ 
nounced. 

“That must be the ‘Wilbur Wright’—I was to get one 
by that name. Yes, you can see it’s a climber. Do be 
careful, Don! You handle them so carelessly.” 

“Do you think they’re worth the trouble of planting?” 

“Surely! I’m going to put the climber under our bed¬ 
room window. It’ll be nice to have roses to look at the 
first thing in the morning.” 

“In the morning?” he laughed. “What morning?” 

“Wait and see.” 

“Just the same, it seems to me you’re devoting a lot 
of time and trouble to something useless.” 

Suddenly she wanted to scream, and point out some of 
his faults as rudely as he did hers. She controlled herself 
with difficulty. Even if he was not inclined to trouble 
himself about the appearance of his office and person, she 
could see no reason why she should permit herself to fall 
into a similar habit of carelessness. But because Blake 
had always succeeded without difficulty in creating a 
favorable impression in spite of his laxity, he could not 
understand why Marcia should ruin her pretty hands try¬ 
ing to improve on nature. Two days of toiling with the 
spade and rake had so completely drained his initial en¬ 
thusiasm for landscape gardening that he had no desire 
left to ever pother in the dirt again. 

“Flowers and vines and shrubs of any kind are pretty,” 
Marcia insisted. “But we can’t expect them to amount 
to anything unless we give them care.” 

“I like them myself, but the jumbled arrangement of 
nature suits me. What is prettier than wild cucumbers 
climbing over a plum thicket?” 

“More cucumbers and plum thickets,” she came back. 
And she went about the preparation of dinner uncertain 
as to just whom the spoils of victory belonged. 

******** 

That evening, a little later than usual because he had 
made a long drive in the country during the afternoon, 
Blake trundled into the garage with his ancient automo¬ 
bile. Marcia went out to meet him. Putting his arm 


BEYOND PARADISE 


49 


around her shoulders he asked good-naturedly, “Got sup¬ 
per about ready?” 

“Yes, it’s been ready a long while.” 

“I can smell it.” 

She knew that he couldn’t, but perhaps it was the psy¬ 
chic effect of an enormous appetite that made him think 
he could. 

“Smells good, doesn’t it?” she humored him. 

“Whatever you do is good. And I’m not saying that 
because I’m as hungry as a bear.” 

“So you’re hungry as a bear,” she said, trying to free 
herself from his encircling arm. “Then I’ll hurry. I’ve 
been keeping the things warm in the oven.” 

“You shouldn’t trouble yourself that way,” he said, 
restraining her. “We can go downtown to eat when I’m 
late. It isn’t right that you should have to wait for me.” 

“I like to wait for you. Isn’t that all right?” 

“Everything you say and do is—is just right.” 

“Even the roses?” she teased. “Do you think they’re 
right, too?” 

“You know I do. By the way, where did you plant 
them?” 

“Come, I’ll show you.” 

They walked around to the other side of the house 
where the roses were planted, each protected by two 
shingles driven slantwise into the ground. He looked 
critically at the many other plants growing in the strip 
of earth between the concrete walk and the foundation 
of the house, with most of which he was unfamiliar. 

“Old-fashioned flowers?” he asked. 

“Yes, Mrs. Donhagen gave them to me.” 

Because he did not like Mrs. Donhagen, he wanted to 
comment unfavorably on her gifts. The size of the plants, 
their location, and the number planted were things to find 
fault with. A second thought, more mature, made him 
decide that if Marcia wanted flowers and was willing to 
care for them he should not object, even if Mrs. Donhagen 
was the donor. But he could not forbear criticizing, at 
least a little, and he said, “Isn’t it a little late in the season 
for transplanting?” 

“Yes, it is,” she agreed. “I spoke about that to Mrs. 


50 


BEYOND PARADISE 


Donhagen. She said plants will grow any time if they're 
given plenty of water. And I’ll see to that." 

A stray Maltese cat, in a recumbent position in the 
flower bed, was playfully pawing the drooping top of 
one of the plants; Blake bent over her and tickled her 
stomach with his forefinger, throwing her into spasms 
of feline delight. Blake laughed, and Marcia smiled in 
happy sympathy; he had laughed and smiled more since 
their marriage than he had during their entire previous 
acquaintance. It pleased her intensely. She felt that she 
was succeeding in making him happy. 

Blake continued his tour of inspection by looking over 
the newly terraced ground. He was surprised at the 
improvements that had been made, though there had been 
no one around to collect from him for labor. The new 
lawn was green and closely cropped, the shrubs were 
spaded, the hedge was trimmed. Nothing had been neg¬ 
lected. 

“Marcia, you didn’t do all this alone?" he asked, sud¬ 
denly suspicious. 

“ T cannot tell a lie’,” she quoted, smiling, “I did it all 
myself." 

Blake was too conscious of having shirked his own 
responsibilities to respond to her mood. “Work of this 
kind is harmful to you," he objected. “A little mixed in 
with your housework doesn’t hurt, but you’re making a 
regular business of it." 

“Look at these strong hands," she said, holding them 
out for inspection. “Don’t they look as if they could 
work?” 

He regarded them critically. They seemed to him too 
delicate to perform any but the lightest kind of labor. 

“Hands like those shouldn’t be abused," he said tenderly, 
taking them in his. Then he pointed to some stones piled 
about the pedestal of a bird-bath. “That’s work for a 
man—a strong man. Why didn’t you telephone to 
Sinvely and ask him to help you? You remember, I gave 
you his telephone number. He owes me money and he 
might just as well work out his debt. The next time you 
have anything like that to do, call him. He never pays me, 
anyway." 


BEYOND PARADISE 


5i 

“Moving those rocks gave me the most trouble/’ she 
admitted. “Especially the big ones.” 

“You shouldn’t have done it.” 

He wondered what the neighbors thought when they 
saw her struggling with the boulders. “Tight old Blake 
is too close to employ a man to do that work for his wife,” 
they must have said. 

“I don’t mind working,” she assured him. “It’s good 
fun. You don’t realize how strong I am.” She raised 
her sleeve to display the bulge of her biceps as she slowly 
flexed her forearm. “Look at that muscle, Don. . . . 

Just look at it!” 

“Great,” he conceded shortly. 

******** 

That evening, while Blake and Marcia were sitting in 
the porch-swing talking, Mrs. Folsom drew her electric 
motor up to the curb in front of their house. Marcia’s 
heart had ached before for a car just like it, and it was 
aching now—secretly. She was confident that Blake 
would not refuse her if she asked him for one, but she 
continued to content herself with the thought that he 
would himself suggest her having one before long. If the 
time ever came when he was not so burdened with work. 
Even when looking at the dilapidated contrivance he spoke 
of as “the automobile” the thought never entered her 
mind that perhaps he was niggardly. Whatever he did 
was right—always right. To have considered him 
miserly would have placed her in the same category, for 
she had no other thought but that marriage means one 
mind, one heart, one soul. 

Marcia, in typical middle-west country fashion, hastened 
down the walk to greet the caller. Mrs. Folsom had 
alighted and was admiring the Blakes’ home and gardens. 

“Isn’t it funny,” she commenced, “I never noticed be¬ 
fore what a really lovely place you have here?” 

Marcia smiled graciously, and turned to view the re¬ 
sult of her efforts. “It does look pretty,” she admitted. 

“Just as nice as anything on Gentian Hill,” Mrs. Fol¬ 
som continued. “Really, it is.” 

“Oh, thank you! . . . We like it very much, the 

way we have it fixed.” 


52 


BEYOND PARADISE 


They ascended the terrace steps and walked toward 
the house, arm-in-arm. 

“I came to find out what day next week you can get 
away to go to Lake Lashaway,” said Mrs. Folsom. “I 
was going to telephone, but I thought we could talk it 
over better this way.” 

“I must ask Don. He is awfully busy at present.” 

“Then a rest and change will do him good. Make him 
go.” 

Blake himself hailed them from the top of the porch 
steps. “Why didn’t you bring Tom along?” he com¬ 
plained. 

“That man was fussing with his tackles when I left,” 
his wife responded gaily. “When he gets started with 
those nothing can drag him away. He’s simply crazy 
about fishing. You know we’re all due at Lashaway next 
week.” 

Blake looked a bit blank. “I was thinking,” he began 
hesitatingly, while drawing up a chair for Mrs. Folsom. 
“I was thinking I might buy a new automobile before 
starting on that trip. The old one is about through. Had 
a lot of trouble today with the oiling system and the bear¬ 
ings. They told me at the garage that it’ll be a week 
before they’ll have it running again. Got to have a new 
one, that’s all there is to it. Let’s see. ... It will 
take several days at least, to get what I want from 
Omaha. What day would we start?” 

“We’ve planned on Tuesday.” 

He made a rapid mental calculation of the incidents 
involved in purchasing a motor car. The expenditure 
of so much money was a very serious business with him. 
“Saturday, Sunday, Monday—that’ll be time enough. 
Sure, let’s decide definitely to get started on Tuesday. 
I’ll not let business keep me from going this time.” 

Marcia’s reactions to this announcement were almost 
painfully violent. She adored her husband; she was so 
intensely happy over his plans that it was impossible for 
her to act natural. How guilty she would have felt if she 
had allowed herself to entertain, even for the briefest 
moment, the suspicion that he was a “tight-wad.” He 
bought things as he saw need for them. What could be 


BEYOND PARADISE 


53 

more natural? When the proper time arrived, he would 
just as unceremoniously buy an electric car for her. 

“And don’t forget that you need at least two new suits 
of clothes to take along,” she reminded him, watching 
him struggle rather awkwardly with his cigar. He had 
only recently begun to smoke, and had not yet learned 
to handle a cigar with dexterity. “And you’ll need a 
new cap, too.” 

“I have a cap,” he objected. “Have had it for years, 
but I never wear it except when I go to Lashaway. Last 
year I didn’t even wear it then.” 

“Well, you need the suits, anyway.” 

“That linen suit I wore last year is as good as new. A 
little soiled, but a trip to the cleaner’s will remedy that.” 

“The one with the buttons missing on the coat ?” 

“Did you notice that?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well,” he teased, “I’m not a bachelor any more.” 

“I say,” Mrs. Folsom broke in, “make yourself just as 
comfortable as you can. That’s what we’re going for. 
What do you care what anyone thinks of the way you’re 
dressed!” 

Although Mrs. Folsom said this merely to put Blake in 
humor for taking the trip, as he had twice before found 
it necessary to postpone going, both Marcia and Blake 
attached a great deal of importance to her views. Their 
good opinion of her was offset only slightly by her rather 
flashy clothes, liberal use and abuse of cosmetics and over- 
fondness for conspicuous jewelry. She considered herself 
so superior to the conventionalities that she never allowed 
them to affect her. If Blake, or any other man, wanted 
to go without buttons on their clothes, that was entirely 
their affair; if she preferred an abundance of cosmetics 
on her lips and cheeks, that was her own business; if it 
pleased Thomas Folsom to buy diamonds and platinum 
for her, that concerned no one but them. She was a 
despotic power in a little world of her own. 

“I’ll go fifty-fifty on buying clothes,” Blake compro¬ 
mised. “I’ll buy one suit.” 

“I think, perhaps, you can get along with that,” Marcia 
gave in, thinking that he might again postpone going if 


54 


BEYOND PARADISE 


she was too insistent. “You’re right, Edna; what do we 
care how we look?” 

“Well, of course,” said Mrs. Folsom, defending her¬ 
self in view of recent purchases she had made, “women 
can’t go about as shoddy as men can. You know, I’ve 
often wished I was a man.” 

So much settled, Blake devoted himself to reading a 
magazine, and the two women began discussing the con¬ 
tents of their wardrobes in an undertone. 


Chapter III 

Later that same evening Blake received a long distance 
telephone call from a colleague, asking him to make a trip 
of more than sixty miles the next morning to perform 
an operation. This would unexpectedly shorten the time 
he had allowed himself to prepare for Lashaway, and 
he worked far into the night on letters and papers 
that had been neglected but must be attended to before 
he was free to go on a vacation. Marcia helped him with 
whatever she could. As it was already late in the season, 
she was fearful lest he would again put off going, in 
which case it would probably result in a postponement 
of their trip until another year. It was nearly an hour 
after midnight when he finally put his work aside and 
retired. 

With a nurse from the hospital, he started early the 
next day, leaving a note at his office stating he would not 
return before evening. But the journey and the operation 
required less time than he had anticipated, and he was 
back in Waverly shortly after three o’clock that after¬ 
noon. 

It was with a sense of pride that he realized his reputa¬ 
tion for being a “crank” because he invariably kept a 
complete record of his medical and surgical work. In 
two minutes, he could tell the technique employed, the 
pathological findings, and the results of the procedure of 
any one of the hundreds of operations he had performed. 
He did not do this to gratify a whim; he kept those rec¬ 
ords for subsequent reference when the patient returned 
for consultation, and he wanted to make further diagnosis 
on a comparative basis. As it was still early, he stopped 
at his office to record the day’s case before going home. 
Contrary to his habit of entering his private office through 
a side door in the consultation room, he entered through 
the waiting room. As it was after office hours, he pre¬ 
sumed that the attendant, following her usual custom, had 

55 


56 


BEYOND PARADISE 


disposed of those who desired to see him that day. He 
cast a cursory glance about the waiting room as he en¬ 
tered. There was no one there except the girl in charge 
and a woman huddled in a large chair in the far corner 
of the room, partially hidden by a magazine she was read¬ 
ing. The attendant handed him a list of the people who 
had called during the day, which he scanned hastily. Then 
he looked up. 

“Who’s that over there?” 

It was unusual for him to show interest in anyone in 
his outer office; out there they were of as little concern to 
him as the people on the streets, though they were trans¬ 
formed into something of inestimable worth as soon as 
they stepped into his consultation room. 

“She wants to see you personally,” said the attendant. 
“She refuses to give her name or answer the questions 
on the history chart.” 

The huddled figure in the chair lowered the magazine 
sufficiently to glance over its top at Blake, an apprehen¬ 
sive gleam in her piercing, dark eyes. The magazine be¬ 
gan to quiver, and then her shaking hands dropped to 
her lap, coming up nervously an instant later to adjust 
her hat. 

Blake nodded pleasantly. “Do you wish to see me?” 

A strained smile curved her lips. “Yes, Doctor.” 

“Come in . . . this way, please.” 

She arose with an effort and came slowly toward Blake, 
who had walked to the door of his private office and was 
holding it ajar. She walked with a hesitant, uncertain 
step, her lips trembling painfully and one hand gripping 
the fingers of the other nervously, while her eyes were 
fixed appealingly on the doctor. She had not expected to 
find a man so formidable in appearance. His size, his 
awkward movements and brusque manner had all com¬ 
bined to terrify her. Once inside her muscles became 
flaccid and she sank into the chair he offered her, too un¬ 
certain of herself to attempt any action on her own in¬ 
itiative. She pulled herself together with an almost per¬ 
ceptible start. For a time Blake could think of nothing 
appropriate with which to open the conversation, painfully 
embarrassed by her unflinching, beseeching gaze. So he 


BEYOND PARADISE 


57 


pretended that some papers on his desk required his at¬ 
tention before he could proceed with her case. Then he 
glanced up at her casually, and observed that a mist was 
gathering in her eyes, forming into tears that grew larger 
and larger, but never spilled over. He knew positively 
what was confronting him. 

The girl’s pitiful predicament did not concern Blake 
except that he regarded with contempt her presumption 
that he would stoop to do anything for her. He was too 
well established, too well connected, too well thought of 
to even dream of engaging in any sort of irregular prac¬ 
tice. He seethed with an inward exasperation, which was 
about to burst forth in a scathing denunciation of her, 
when he remembered that she had not yet explained why 
she was there. 

“What is it you want to see me about?” he asked 
curtly. “I’m in a hurry.” 

For a moment there was no reply. The girl’s face was 
buried in her hands. Then, without raising her head, she 
said, “Doctor, don’t you know?” 

“Of course, I don’t!” 

She looked up. “You must know what I am here for. 
Doctor Blake.” 

“Well, I guess I do. But I can’t help you. . . . 

It’s impossible for me to do anything in a case like yours. 

. . . You know that, too!” 

“I should have known. ... I did know. But I 
—I hoped. There was something that made me feel you 
might do something for me.” 

“It’s absolutely out of the question! Furthermore, 
there ought to be a law to throw people in jail who 
solicit a doctor to do anything like that!” 

She still clung to a forlorn hope that he had not defi¬ 
nitely declined to aid her. “Then you refuse?” 

“I certainly do!” he boomed. “Now I wish you would 
go.” 

Her body felt like lead as she lifted herself to her feet. 
“Thank you, Doctor,” she whispered, “for your considera¬ 
tion.” 

“That’s all right,” he muttered ungraciously. 

Just before she passed through the door she spoke 


BEYOND PARADISE 


58 

again. “I shouldn’t have bothered you. You know, 
there’s a better way, Doctor.” 

The door closed with a definite bang that seemed to 
awaken Blake to a keener consciousness of the misfortune 
that had befallen this girl. After all, he was not so 
big and resourceful but that he might be looking for ad¬ 
vice or help before night. 

“My God!” he breathed, crossing to an open window 
through which came the din of the busy street below. 
But the rumble of vehicles could not drown the ringing 
in his ears of the girl’s final sentence. “Did I do right? 
Isn’t there something I could have done for her besides 
refusing her so flatly?—something?—somehow?” He 
hurried into the waiting room, but she was not there. He 
opened the door and looked down the corridor—she was 
gone. Where? What was she going to do? 

******** 

“Oh, well,” Blake reassured himself on his way home, 
trying to free himself from the uncomfortable feeling in¬ 
duced by finding his thoughts dwelling persistently on the 
misfortunes of the girl. “She’s just one of a great many. 
I can’t help it if she harms herself.” 

He stressed the justifications for his own actions in the 
matter, vainly trying to exonerate himself of responsi¬ 
bility. Although everything that transpired in his offiice 
was strictly confidential, he decided to make an exception 
in this instance and tell Marcia. It would relieve him to 
talk to someone about it, even though, by taking Marcia 
into his confidence, he risked involving her in his own 
sense of alarmed concern for the strange girl’s welfare. 

He found plenty to occupy him in the garage when he 
arrived home, and later that evening he took Marcia to 
a picture show. In many ways the picture reminded him 
of the girl who had dragged her miserable body out of 
his office that afternoon, and for the first time he was 
aware of a desire to know who she was. He blamed him¬ 
self for failing to obtain her name in the customary way; 
why had he neglected putting her through the same rou¬ 
tine he required of other patients? 

The unusual circumstances surrounding the whole oc¬ 
currence became constantly more puzzling to him. As 


BEYOND PARADISE 


59 


his curiosity over the girl's identity increased, he won¬ 
dered why he had failed to secure the information he now 
so much desired. Why had he not considered the matter 
more thoroughly before turning her away? As his un¬ 
easiness grew, it was further aggravated by the knowledge 
that Marcia was aware of his moodiness, though she asked 
sweetly, “What makes you so serious, Don? You’re so 
quiet.” 

“Oh, I was thinking.” 

“About what?” 

“The case at Belmont today,” he lied. “I’m a little 
worried about the patient.” 

On the way home they stopped at the drug store for 
a cooling drink. Blake prolonged their stay talking to 
the clerk, who had studied medicine a year and had had 
some unusual experiences. Marcia played the phono¬ 
graph and poached on the magazines in the rack while 
the two men continued to talk. 

Blake arrived at home at last, very tired. He did not 
follow his nightly custom of reading awhile before re¬ 
tiring, something he seldom omitted even if he came in 
late. But all that night long he tossed restlessly. Night¬ 
mares visited him of a girl leaping from a bridge into 
a river, of lips stained with poison or burned white with 
acid, and he would waken and sit up in bed, terrified. 

Contrary to his usual habit, Blake ate his breakfast the 
next morning hurriedly. Marcia observed his unusual 
behavior curiously. Aware of her unspoken questions, 
he wished he had told her the night before what was 
troubling him. He was tempted to tell her even now, 
but something he could not quite understand deterred him. 
So after kissing her and giving her an affectionate, if 
somewhat absent-minded, little pat on the arm, he hur¬ 
ried out to the garage, started the motor, and drove off 
at breakneck speed. 

When she saw him driving in the direction of the hos¬ 
pital, Marcia reassured herself with the thought that it 
was the worry over some difficult cases that was troubling 
him. Then, as she continued to watch him, she thought 
she could see his automobile in the distance, speeding 


6o 


BEYOND PARADISE 


past the hospital. Because she might be mistaken, she 
decided to telephone and find out if, after all, he had 
stopped there. But what would she say if he heard her 
asking for him? Looking around, she promptly found 
an excuse in his forgotten gloves. She went to the tele¬ 
phone, hesitated, and then concluded she was allowing 
herself to worry over nothing, so she returned to the 
kitchen and began clearing away the breakfast dishes. 

Marcia was right. Blake had not stopped at the hos¬ 
pital, but had proceeded directly to his office. He wanted 
to question the woman in charge of the record files, hop¬ 
ing that she might be able to satisfy his curiosity con¬ 
cerning the identity of the girl whose predicament was 
affecting him so strangely. 

“Have you the remotest idea as to the identity of the 
girl who was here when I came in yesterday?” he asked. 

“I have not,” was the unsatisfactory reply. “She was 
very careful not to tell who she was.” 

“She refused to give her name?” 

“Or any other information concerning herself.” 

“While conversing with her,” he persisted, “didn’t you 
get some idea where she was from or where she was 
staying ?” 

“I didn’t find out anything.” 

Thinking that the attendant might be forming her own 
opinion of his determination to obtain some information 
regarding this particular patient, he added nonchalantly, 
“I want to locate her. She forgot her purse.” 

“I’m sorry, but I’m unable to give you any information 
concerning her.” 

He thought deeply for a minute, then entered his 
private office and caught up the morning paper, eagerly 
Scanning it for news of the girl’s possibly attempted self- 
destruction during the night. He could find nothing with 
regard to her. Many thoughts flashed through his mind, 
one following the other so closely that his brain became 
a congested mass of half-formed ideas. 

When he heard footsteps and low conversation in the 
waiting room, he wondered if it could possibly be the 
girl, returned to make a further appeal to him. He had 
difficulty restraining himself from breaking his established 


BEYOND PARADISE 


61 


custom not to appear in the waiting room from his private 
office unless he was summoned. When the electric buzzer 
announced that he was wanted, he hastened to the door. 
Although disappointed in not finding the one he was eager 
to see, it gave him far more satisfaction to find Jacques 
Dumont there with his crippled son. 

Dumont, although no longer taking an active part in 
business, was the sole owner of the two leading industries 
in town, a gas-engine manufacturing plant and a struc¬ 
tural steel works. These businesses had in the past years 
netted him millions of dollars, and he was by far the 
richest man in Waverly. But it seemed as if fate had 
decreed that the comfortable happiness that may quite 
naturally be expected to accompany such riches, should 
be curtailed by the crippling of his only son, which had 
followed an attack of infantile paralysis when the boy 
was sixteen. The shock had been too severe for his wife 
and she had died, breaking up their home just when they 
were prepared to enjoy life most fully. 

For years Dumont had devoted most of his time to 
taking his son, now a man of thirty, to every place that 
boasted of an eminent orthopedic specialist, though with¬ 
out any resulting benefit to the cripple. Blake, therefore, 
considered their ultimate confidence in his ability a far 
greater asset to his reputation than anything he had 
heretofore achieved. While watching this case from a 
distance, he had seen the field gradually narrowing down 
to himself, and he anticipated nervously, but certainly, 
being called upon. 

“We came early,” explained the elder Mr. Dumont, 
“for I understand that your waiting list is large later in 
the day; we wanted to avoid the rush.” 

Those few words, spoken in that brief moment, had a 
tremendous influence on Blake. Changes usually take 
place suddenly in a person, and this had happened to him. 
These people were, then, among his clientele. He could 
see money, the thing that was of paramount importance 
to him, rolling in. He knew Dumont would not hesitate 
to spend a million, if only his son's health could be re¬ 
stored. What did the few paltry thousands he had 
hoarded together during his entire medical career amount 


62 


BEYOND PARADISE 


to compared with the amount of this single prospective 
fee? This consultation was the forerunner of a totally 
different view of himself. 

“Yes, I usually have very busy afternoons,” Blake 
agreed composedly. “Pm glad you came early, though I 
ought to be at the hospital even now.” 

“Forget about your other patients,” the senior Dumont 
advised him. “Devote yourself entirely to my boy—if 
need be. Don't leave a stone unturned to help him— 
especially to relieve this new trouble he has developed. 
I am willing to pay well.” 

“Money is not the object I’m working for—it is suc¬ 
cess.” 

“My dear man,” Dumont went on, as Blake shifted his 
son from one chair to another. “I know you won’t fail 
me.” 

“I hope I won’t.” 

The long and tedious examination was begun, much of 
which was as baffling to Blake as to the Dumonts. At 
times the senses of his fingers and ears ran wild, for he 
was losing himself in visions of what this case meant 
to him. 

The doctor had evidently made a favorable impression 
on the Dumonts, for he obtained their promise to have 
the invalid submit to an operation and thereafter follow 
his directions for the period of one year, the time he 
had allowed himself to obtain desired results. It was 
long after the noon-hour before the examination was 
completed and the patient was rolling down the corridor 
toward the elevator in his wheel chair. Blake crossed to 
the window and looked down into the busy street below, 
mentally congratulating himself on his success, and an¬ 
ticipating for himself a wonderful future. And in the 
midst of his triumph he forgot about the silly little goose 
who had brought unnecessary trouble upon herself. 
******** 

Blake was busy when the telephone bell sounded late 
that day in the tiresome way it always did: the buzzer, 
with its monotonous drone, two short rings followed 
by a long one, announcing that he was wanted. He was 
very deliberate about answering. 


BEYOND PARADISE 


63 


"Is this Doctor Blake ?” inquired an anxious voice, 
when he had picked up the receiver and indicated his 
readiness to listen. 

“Yes.” 

There was the sound of confused voices and loud 
thumping, and then another voice sounded over the wire. 
“Doctor, can you come right over?” 

"Who's talking?” 

“This is Mrs. Gardle at The Farwell Rooms.” 

“Yes, Mrs. Gardle. What is the trouble?” 

There was a brief pause, during which he could hear 
the woman admonishing someone. “For God’s sake,” she 
was imploring, “don’t attract the police.” She again di¬ 
rected her voice into the telephone. “I think a roomer 
took poison!” 

“Poison ?” 

“I think so. Come down as quick as you can!” 

“I’ll be right over.” 

The Farwell Rooms was a disreputable lodging house, 
occupying a dilapidated building that had been at one time 
the leading hotel in the older part of the town. It was 
located on the bank of the river, in the midst of all the 
stench and filth that accumulates even in small cities. To 
the north were the stockyards; across the river was a 
slaughter-house that discharged its refuse in the stream; 
to the south were freight depots and railroad yards; while 
on the west, it was bordered by a few small stores and 
cottages grimy with a generation’s smoke and dirt. The 
discouraged trees about the dingy houses and in front 
of The Farwell Rooms were green, but their stunted 
size provided a vivid illustration of arrested development. 

Mrs. Gardle was a person about whom there was no 
doubt of her standing in life. She had started on the 
down grade by accepting the easiest means of livelihood 
while she was still quite young, ultimately to find herself 
conducting a rooming-house that tolerated the vermin 
that infested it as unconcernedly as it did the fetid odors 
of the vicinity. Despite the fact that her place was a 
rendezvous for varlets and harlots alike, where the police 
naturally looked first when they were hunting criminals. 


64 


BEYOND PARADISE 


the local force credited Mrs. Gardle with conducting her 
business strictly within the law. 

It was to this place that Blake hurried on receipt of 
the urgent telephone call. Mrs. Gardle, disarmingly prim 
and neat, met him at the door. She led the way up a long, 
dark stairway, through a long, dark hallway. He could 
hear a low moaning somewhere, and as he followed his 
guide, doors opened all along the hall and women of 
questionable appearance stood and watched their progress. 
Some looked on in an attitude of hard indifference, while 
others seemed to view the situation with sympathetic 
concern. 

At the door of the last room Mrs. Gardle stopped and 
waved Blake in, indicating she was not inclined to enter 
herself. There was no one in the room except the dark¬ 
eyed girl whom Blake had seen in his office the previous 
day. She was lying on a bed that still retained a few 
chips of its original coat of green paint, writhing with 
pain. She alternately bit and pawed the pillow and the 
filthy quilt that covered her body. 

“Is there anything you’ll want, Doctor ?” asked Mrs. 
Gardle from the doorway. 

“I don’t know yet what I’ll need,” he said, “but I wish 
you would remain here, Mrs. Gardle.” 

She stepped in and closed the door. “Do you think she 
took poison?” 

Blake cast a glance about the room, and failing to ob¬ 
serve anything to indicate that she might have taken 
poison, he said, “Does it look like a case of poisoning 
to you?” 

Mrs. Gardle also made a survey of the room. “No, 
it doesn’t.” 

“I have been treating her for stomach trouble,” Blake 
instantly invented. “She is subject to these attacks.” 

“Oh, I see.” 

He took her pulse and found it rapid and thready; her 
pupils were normal, but her face was extremely cyanotic. 

“She’s a sick girl.” 

“Where does she live ?” Mrs. Gardle asked. 

“I don’t remember. Didn’t she register when she en¬ 
gaged her room?” 


BEYOND PARADISE 


65 


“I don’t have a register,” Mrs. Gardle explained. “I 
suppose I should have one. You know, I make strangers 
pay in advance. It saves trouble and expense. The poor 
thing had just enough money to pay for two days.” 

Blake was not yet certain that it was a case of poison¬ 
ing, except that he was suspicious of her strangely per¬ 
fumed breath. “I’m going to wash her stomach,” he 
said, looking up. “Will you bring a pitcher of tepid 
water, Mrs. Gardle?” 

“Sure. . . . Tepid, did you say?” 

“Yes. Lukewarm.” 

The little woman left the room and hurried downstairs. 
Blake knelt beside the bed. “Good heavens, little girl, 
what did you do?” he asked. He lifted her head in his 
hands. “You took poison, didn’t you? Tell me, what 
did you take?” 

“Oh, Doctor, let me die,” she pleaded. “Please let me 
die.” 

“I won’t let you die. . . . You’re not going to die! 

Tell me, what did you take?” 

She clasped her hand over his arm and pulled him 
closer to her. “Formaldehyde,” she whispered. “You 
can’t keep me from dying.” 

“How much did you drink?” 

“All I could. The bottle is in my bag.” 

Blake opened the small, new valise that stood in a 
corner beside a broken-down dresser. He found a three- 
ounce bottle, nearly empty. “Poison” glared at him in 
bold red letters on the label. Beneath it the word “For¬ 
malin” was written in ink. 

“Was this bottle full?” 

“Yes,” she gasped. 

“And you drank all of it?” 

“As much as I could. I—it strangled me so.” 

She raised herself up in bed, but the strain was too 
severe, and it seemed as if something vital within her gave 
way. She became rigid with muscular spasms. When 
the paroxysm subsided her bodily strength went with it, 
and she fell back exhausted. Her limp body heaved 
violently, and each labored breath came with a crackling 
gurgle deep in her throat. 


66 


BEYOND PARADISE 


Blake was administering a hypodermic stimulant when 
Mrs. Gardle came in with the water. This done, he 
hastily prepared a stomach-tube and set to work. The 
girl, although greatly weakened, had enough reflex 
strength left to desperately fight him off. But with Mrs. 
Gardle’s aid, he succeeded in siphoning a solution from 
her stomach that had a strong odor of formaldehyde. 

“U-u-u-u-h,” shuddered Mrs. Gardle, “such a sour 
stomach! No wonder she was in pain!” 

“Ulcers,” Blake explained. “An old case of it.” 

For two hours Blake worked with his patient, at times 
almost despairing of her life. But he finally succeeded 
in helping her breathe more easily, and watched with 
satisfaction the color of her face change from a deep 
cyanotic to a flushed pink. 

“Did you say that her account here was settled?” he 
asked Mrs. Gardle. 

“She’s paid up until tonight.” 

“I’m going to take her to the hospital.” 

“No, no,” the girl feebly protested. 

Blake disregarded her opposition. 

“How are you going to take her?” Mrs. Gardle asked. 

“I was thinking about that. In my car, I guess.” 

Mrs. Gardle assumed a doubtful mien. “You can’t 
very well do it alone?” 

“I’ll try it.” 

“I’ll get Dye to lend you a hand,” she said, and pat¬ 
tered down the hall. 

“Please don’t take me to a hospital,” the girl begged. 
“Please don’t.” 

“You need care,” Blake explained. “You can’t get it 
here. It would be a disgrace to leave a person as sick as 
you are in this place.” 

Her only reply to this was a dispairing groan. 

A few minutes afterward a tall, cadaverous man, col¬ 
larless and in shirt sleeves, came in. He silently assumed 
a position off to one side, but his attitude indicated that he 
was ready to receive and execute orders. 

“Are you Dye?” Blake demanded. 

“Yes, sir.” 


BEYOND PARADISE 67 

“All right, you go down to the car. I’ll get her that 
far, but you’ll have to help me lift her in.” 

******** 

It was with difficulty that Blake finally installed her 
in the little automobile the garage had loaned him while 
his car was being repaired. On the way over to the 
hospital he said, “Your name is Margaret Jones when 
you arrive at the hospital. I’m treating you for stomach 
trouble. You’ve been my patient for a long time, and 
your home is in a distant town. Any town forty or fifty 
miles away will do, except the one that’s really your 
home.” 

The girl’s clouded brain was too dulled to grasp his 
meaning. “That is not my name,” she objected weakly. 
“My name is Phyllis Girard, and my home is in Willis- 
ton.” 

“For the present it is best that you follow my instruc¬ 
tions,” he tried to calm her. “In a few days you’ll be able 
to think for yourself.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I haven’t time to explain now. Just do as I say and 
everything will be all right.” 

Phyllis buried her face in her hands. “I wish I could 
think,” she muttered desperately. “I’ll never be able to 
think again.” 

“Yes, you will, but you must take it easy for a while.” 

Although a thousand thoughts crowded her brain, it was 
some time before one stood out clear—quite clear. What 
impulse had suddenly seized this man that he should now 
assume to become her protector? Why was he suddenly 
taking such an interest in her ? 

“You must not take me to the hospital,” she insisted, 
seizing the wheel. He brushed her hand away so easily 
that she realized she was indeed too weakened to offer 
any physical resistance to him. “Even though I haven’t 
any money I won’t accept your help,” she continued. “I’ll 
get out of this somehow—myself, if I have to do—” She 
paused and clenched her hands in abject terror. “Oh, 
what will I do ?” she pleaded. 

Up to this time Blake had been acting as doctor-to- 


68 


BEYOND PARADISE 


patient in the case, but her pitiful wailing now touched 
the man-to-woman chivalry within him. 

‘Til take care of you,” he assured her gently. ‘Til 
see to everything. Some day, when you are able, you can 
repay me.” 

She tried to fathom his sudden change of attitude to¬ 
ward her—his brusque refusal to even talk to her the day 
before, his skilled medical attention today, and now his 
real consideration for her future welfare. But her girlish 
brain, dulled from the suffering she had endured, was 
in a maze, and she could not correlate her thoughts. An 
aching head, aggravated by an annoying tingling of her 
body, a numbness of her hands and feet, that made her 
entire body quiver, all combined to make her feel that her 
own judgment was not to be relied upon. 

“I’ll do as you want me to,” she yielded, as Blake 
brought his automobile to a standstill in front of the 
hospital. “I’ll follow your advice until I can think for 
myself.” 

******** 

Marcia was waiting for Blake, sitting on the steps of 
the driveway stoop, when he drove up the winding con¬ 
crete strips a little more recklessly than usual that night. 
His mind was not really on the driving, for he was men¬ 
tally weighing what he had done for Phyllis, wondering 
if he had acted rightly. 

The tramp Maltese cat—the feline had become a mem¬ 
ber of the household through adoption—was rubbing its 
sides against Marcia’s skirts, and greeted Blake with 
furious purrings when he mounted the steps. 

“You look too sweet for anything,” Blake told Marcia 
as she smiled up at him. 

“Dear boy,” she retaliated. 

He bent over and buried his face in her fluffy, just- 
washed hair, then kissed it. 

“You look tired, Don,” she said sympathetically, get¬ 
ting up. “You look as if you didn’t feel well.” 

“I am tired,” he admitted. “It seems as if my endur¬ 
ance isn’t what it used to be. Ten years ago this would 
have been—” He caught himself lamenting, and that was 


BEYOND PARADISE 69 

inconsistent with his creed. “I’m just a little fagged, 
that’s all.” 

He hastened into the house. Marcia knew him too well 
not to be certain that there was something besides fatigue 
the matter, but she followed him in silence. 

“I’m glad your vacation is so near,” she said when she 
observed his poor appetite. “I spoke to Mrs. Folsom 
over the telephone this afternoon; she said that Mr. Fol¬ 
som may not be able to go with us. . . . He will 
follow in a day or two.” 

“I’m not sure about getting away myself next Tuesday,” 
he surprised her. “My work is not shaping up as nicely 
as I had expected. Everything seems gummed up. The 
dealer told me today that it will rush him to get the car 
here by that time; the tailor says it will be almost im¬ 
possible for him to get the suit out that I ordered; had a 
letter today from Worth, my surgical assistant, stating 
he’ll not be back before Thursday, and we can’t both be 
away at the same time.” 

Marcia’s face was clouded in bitter disappointment. 
“Donald, dear, you’re not going to be a slave to your 
work any longer. I won’t let you! I’ll spend less on 
myself if my extravagance is keeping you tied down. And 
I can keep house more economically if I must.” 

Her reference to her extravagance, which he knew to 
be a myth, sounded almost like a reproach. “Don’t you 
worry about me,” he blustered. “Any man is liable to 
feel a bit dumpish at times. . . . That’s no sign I’m 

going to die soon.” 

“Of course, it isn’t,” laughed Marcia. “You’re inten¬ 
tionally exaggerating.” 

“Well, I thought you were, too.” 

“So I was. Now then, that we’ve compromised on 
that, you’ll go to Lashaway Tuesday?” 

That settled it; he told her that nothing could make 
him disappoint her. 

******** 

As far as the Blake household was concerned, the days 
that followed until Tuesday were uneventful, but Phyllis 
came in for more attention. She had apparently fully 
recovered from her terrible experience, and with it she 


7o 


BEYOND PARADISE 


had visibly changed from a sorrowful girl who had wel¬ 
comed death to one who again saw prospects of happi¬ 
ness in living. 

It was Monday, the day before the Blakes and Mrs. 
Folsom were to go to Lashaway, that Phyllis was able to 
leave the hospital. She came to Blake’s office and, among 
other patients, registered with the attendant for an ap¬ 
pointment—under the name of Margaret Jones. Her 
absolute reliance in him made the doctor suspect that her 
reasoning might have become slightly deranged by what 
she had suffered and he questioned her very closely. He 
was too shrewdly observant to let even the minutest reve¬ 
lation escape him. To the casual observer, the girl gave 
no evidence of abnormality, but Blake found her men¬ 
tality sufficiently impaired to make him apprehensive. 
Whether the condition was acute or chronic, the result of 
worry or poison, he had not yet determined. The fact 
that she had resigned herself to his care as completely as 
if she were his very own was enough to cause him real 
concern. Phyllis was not reminding Blake of any prom¬ 
ise he had made, but her actions plainly indicated that 
she was relying on him as her protector, and he was not 
cruel enough to disappoint her. 

‘Til be glad to do anything within reason for you,” 
said Blake, feeling around in an attempt to free himself 
from the hold she had on him. “What do you want me 
to do?” 

“What can you do?” 

She spoke with hard indifference, and if Blake had not 
known that her father, whom he knew through business 
transactions with his firm, was an honest and very pious 
man, he might have thought that he was dealing with the 
results of a lack of upbringing. But he knew that few 
girls are reared in a better environment than she had had 
at home. 

He was emphatic when he spoke again. “I’ll make the 
man marry you!” he asserted. 

Phyllis was dumbfounded. So that was what his offer 
to help her consisted of! She studied him closely for a 
moment. “You know that that part has been settled,” she 


BEYOND PARADISE 


7i 


said thickly. “That is out of the question. I’ve told you 
that before.” 

Blake was insistent. “What could be more right than 
to compel him to do that ?” 

“A marriage under compulsion?” 

“Yes—in a case of this kind.” 

She wanted to tell him how contemptible he sounded, 
but he had already done much for her and she resolved 
not to test his good nature too far. 

“It can never be,” she pleaded. “Please don’t think 
it can.” 

“Who is he?” 

“Please Doctor Blake, how many times must I ask you 
not to speak of that? I beg you, I implore you not to 
make my humiliation greater than it is. I have explained 
to you that I left my home because I wouldn’t divulge the 
name of the man. He is no more to blame than I am. 
When I went to my mother—I always told her everything 
—for advice, she in turn informed my father, and his solu¬ 
tion of the problem was to find the man and kill him. 
When I refused to tell his name I was told to leave home 
—and here I am. Please, Doctor Blake, won’t you try and 
understand? We must find some other way—if you really 
want to help me. I think you do; but first of all you must 
understand. You frustrated my attempt to kill myself 
without an understanding knowledge of what it was all 
about; now you are endeavoring to remedy a condition 
that cannot be remedied—without an understanding 
knowledge.” 

She had apparently not said all she wanted to say, but 
she could not get further. 

Blake pulled himself abruptly to his feet. “I’m sorry,” 
he said. “I meant well. Trying to help you the way I 
thought you wanted to be helped was what prompted me 
to say what I did. You make some suggestion and I’ll 
see that it’s carried out.” 

There was a determined glint in her eyes as she raised 
her head sharply. 

“I’m going through with it,” she stated. “Where or 
how, I don’t know. But I am going through!” 

He brightened. “I have it! That little house of mine 


72 


BEYOND PARADISE 


out on the north limits of town is just the thing. It is 
isolated enough to be—to be a sort of retreat. There is 
only one other house nearby; an Austrian track worker 
and his family live there. You won’t have any inquisitive 
neighbors to interfere with you, and still there’ll be some¬ 
one close enough if you should want them. It’s just the 
place for you. Nobody has lived in it for a year and it is 
badly in need of repairs. I’ll send a carpenter out at once 
to make it habitable. You can live at the hotel until it’s 
ready for occupancy.” 

“I’m worrying about the hospital account,” she admit¬ 
ted. “It is the only money I owe—except what I owe 
you.” 

He considered carefully before he spoke again, trying 
to decide whether to keep on binding himself more and 
more firmly to a random promise, or to tell her that he 
could do nothing more for her. 

“The hospital expense has been taken care of,” he said 
at length. “As for the other, I’ll give you a life lease 
on the house, with a clause in it that the first rental must 
be paid at the end of five years or you forfeit your rights.” 
He laughed. “Isn’t that a scheme for you?” 

The girl tried to show that he was pleasing her, but 
the momentary brightening of her eyes had hardened into 
a blank stare. Her pride, the thing that had prompted her 
to attempt self-destruction rather than accept charity, was 
making a final protest. “I don’t want t—o-” 

Her voice failed her. And then, without warning, she 
swooned and fell before Blake could reach her. He bent 
over her apprehensively. Her lips were bloodless, her 
hands clammy, her pulse almost imperceptible. He took 
the slender form in his arms and placed it on a lounge, 
making a hasty examination. 

“Internal hemorrhage,” he diagnosed her sudden attack. 
“Undoubtedly the effect of the poison. Poor, poor thing! 
Didn’t she have enough as it was?” 

He realized there must be no time lost if he was to 
save her life. He summoned Worth, who had returned 
that day in response to a telegram, and they took her to 
the hospital. After a brief consultation, an operation was 
decided upon and immediately performed. About an 



BEYOND PARADISE 


73 


hour later, as she was reviving from the anesthetic, Blake 
stood at the bedside. “She’s coming through the operation 
splendidly,” he assured the nurse. “But give her close 
attention.” 


Chapter IV 

To be a guest at The Rockcliff Hotel is an indication 
that you are on the inside of Lashaway society. Even if 
such a distinction does not carry much weight, there is 
nevertheless considerable satisfaction attached to it, es¬ 
pecially for those who presume that they are among the 
few who are financially able to maintain it. 

Because the people who came to The Rockcliff annually 
were of the better class, supposedly equipped with the in¬ 
tellect to appreciate the unusual, Blake was fond of 
promenading the wide verandas of the hotel, presumably 
for the edification of the other guests. Ever since boy¬ 
hood he had been inclined to self-consciousness which 
made him feel conspicuous among people away from 
home. He greatly enjoyed the feeling of aloof superiority 
which voluntary detachment from the society of others 
afforded him. He was happy in imagining that people 
who did not know him well stopped to look back when 
he passed them, and that they said, “There is a brilliant 
young physician. It is said that he’s made a fortune in 
surgery.” 

Still, vacationing was as much of a business with Blake 
as was the amputation of a leg. He patronized The 
Rockcliff because he knew that its cuisine, bathing beach, 
golf course, and service were superior to anything the 
other places on the shores of Lashaway offered. His ap¬ 
pearance in such a desirable environment reflected credit 
upon his taste and position in the world, and he went 
golfing and motoring merely because to do so was fash¬ 
ionable among The Rockcliff guests, though he would 
rather have lounged along the beach in old clothes, watch¬ 
ing the bathers. 

Such being the case, in a place where entertainment is 
as limited as it usually is at summer resorts, it is easy to 
imagine that Blake soon found life unbearably irksome 
at Lake Lashaway. But he kept himself busy and happy 


BEYOND PARADISE 


75 


by devoting himself to Marcia, content to row and dance 
and walk and talk with her. That was his opinion of 
ideal relaxation. 

“Such sweethearts,” teased Mrs. Folsom when she dis¬ 
covered them on a deserted veranda, preferring to sit 
silent in the moonlight to joining the crowd of dancers. 
“Eve looked an hour for you.” 

Blake arose reluctantly. “Surely, not an hour.” 

Mrs. Folsom consulted her wrist-watch with difficulty 
in the moonlight. “Fifty-three minutes by my watch,” 
she stated. 

“Well,” Marcia defended herself, “I told Don several 
times we ought to be going in.” 

“I was in no hurry about it,” he admitted. “I don’t 
know why.” 

“We were to dance the second dance together,” Mrs. 
Folsom reminded him. “And they’re dancing the—” She 
paused to look at her card. “This is the fifth.” 

“I’m sorry I forgot about our dance,” he apologized. 

“If it isn’t too late,” said Marcia, getting up, “let’s go 
now.” 

“There is plenty of time,” Mrs. Folsom assured her, 
taking Marcia by the arm and moving toward the stairs. 
“We’ll have time to dance all we want.” 

As Blake hurried after the two women, he tripped, and 
would have fallen, on the last step of the flight from the 
porch; but in floundering about he lurched heavily against 
Mrs. Folsom’s shoulder, saving himself from a nasty 
tumble. 

“I hope you won’t dance as heavily as that,” she re¬ 
buked him. 

“I couldn’t see,” he tried to excuse himself. “There 
ought to be a light somewhere on these stairs.” He gazed 
about, adding when his look encountered a fixture, “Well, 
there is one. They must be saving the juice.” 

“It’s the worn-out matting,” Marcia interceded for him. 
“I caught my foot on the same step this morning.” 

Fortunately the music struck up just then. Blake felt 
a sensation of clumsiness in all his muscles as Marcia 
stepped out on the floor with him, but they glided away 
with wonderful ease and grace. He was glad, exultantly 


76 


BEYOND PARADISE 


glad, that he danced well, for he was not certain that 
Marcia was not a little provoked over his stumbling, 
though she had defended him against Mrs. Folsom’s al¬ 
lusion to his unwieldiness. 

“That was unforgivably awkward of me,” he apolo¬ 
gized. 

“What?” 

“Stumbling on the stairs like a drunken man.” 

“Who cares?” 

“I think Edna didn’t like it.” 

“If she didn’t,” scoffed Marcia, “that’s all the satisfac¬ 
tion she’ll get out of it.” 

“Then you aren’t influenced by what she thinks of me?” 

“Why, Don,” she whispered, “such an idea is prepos¬ 
terous !” 

“You’re a darling.” 

“Remember, dear, I love you.” 

He smiled and tightened his arm about her. They 
danced on, loving each other more ardently than when 
they were sweethearts. 

The music stopped and they found Mrs. Folsom spread¬ 
ing her ample self on two chairs, holding one for Marcia. 

“I owe you an apology,” said Mrs. Folsom softly, 
touching Blake’s arm. “You dance beautifully.” 

“I was about to make you say that,” Marcia threat¬ 
ened, laughingly. 

“Is that the first time you’ve seen me dance?” asked 
Blake, wondering. 

“Yes. You know, I don’t go to dances at home.” 

Blake considered a moment. “You were at the first 
Elks’ ball I attended in Waverly,” he reminded her. 

“But I wasn’t interested in you then,” she laughed. 

The following morning, two days behind schedule, Fol¬ 
som arrived at The Rockcliff, loud in his complaints over 
the silliness of coming to a resort to transact business. 
The word ‘vacation’ was not in his vocabulary, though 
there was nothing he enjoyed more than an occasional 
fishing trip, similar to those he went on when a boy. He 
believed in ‘roughing it.’ That was what made the 
coarsest food palatable and the hardest bed comfortable. 


BEYOND PARADISE 


77 


Because he intended going out for a few days’ real 
fishing as soon as he concluded his business in connection 
with his stay at The Rockcliff, he immediately got into 
communication with his political confreres, Judge Eustis 
Day and Governor Finis Goodrich, there by prearrange¬ 
ment. He seemed to derive keen satisfaction out of com¬ 
bining business with pleasure when he was forced to seek 
pleasure. 

Also, while loitering about in apparent idleness, he was 
determined to put the time to good account by means of 
some of the rather cheap publicity with which he hoped 
to further his political career. This was easily accom¬ 
plished, for his bulky form and limping left foot made 
him a conspicuous and impressive figure. While it was 
not actually necessary for him to carry a cane, he always 
had one, a heavy congo stick, bound at each end with 
gold; and he made elaborate use of it to round out ges¬ 
tures and cudgel pebbles and blades of grass with its 
tapering golden ferrule. 

His two political colleagues were more than a little wor¬ 
ried over the outcome of the forthcoming election. Each 
had held his incumbency for several terms, but was in¬ 
creasingly apprehensive about the future at the thought 
of the dwindling plurality that had elected them each 
succeeding time. The vote of the women had been cast 
almost solidly against them. 

“We need some capable women in our ranks,” averred 
Governor Goodrich. “Our organization won’t amount to 
the proverbial tinker’s damn next November unless we 
have them with us. I can see now that we’ve been too 
careless in considering them while figuring their strength. 
They represent a powerful factor and their support is 
increasingly important to have. It’s clear to me that the 
political faction that harmonizes on this point, the one 
enlisting the women’s support by granting them a few 
concessions, will be the one to watch.” He paused, 
scratched his gray head, asked for confirmation. “Judge, 
you know the ropes pretty well. What do you think 
about it?” 

Judge Day scowled as he always did when considering 
some weighty matter. He was thinking of the narrow 


78 


BEYOND PARADISE 


margin that had returned him to the bench the last time. 
“I believe you’re right/’ he assented. 

Goodrich looked at Folsom triumphantly. “Of course, 
I’m right.” 

“It seems to me something startling will have to be done 
to give either of us a victory this fall,” Day continued, 
looking rather dolefully at Goodrich. “There’s no ques¬ 
tion but that you are right regarding the women. How¬ 
ever, some of my advisers have informed me that we’ve 
lost ground through too much feminine meddling already.” 

Goodrich shot a questioning glance at Folsom, who 
seemed to be finding diversion in teasing a pebble with his 
walking-stick. To feign indifference at times when his 
opinion was eagerly sought, allowing those who were look¬ 
ing for it to entangle themselves in the meshes of their 
own miscalculations, was a trick that had carried him 
beyond mere local fame as a politician. His colleagues 
grew increasingly uncomfortable as he remained obvious¬ 
ly unimpressed by the importance of their discussion. But 
the more they chafed the better pleased he was. 

“What is your opinion on that, Folsom?” Goodrich 
asked at length, making a real attempt to sound impres¬ 
sive. “I’d stake more on your judgment in a matter of 
that kind than any other man I know.” 

“Probably you could find some bright woman who 
would give you pretty good advice on that,” he replied 
cryptically, without looking up. 

Goodrich was angry. “Don’t make light of something 
that is a vital matter, Tom.” 

Folsom remained silent and continued to make the little 
stone jump impishly. 

Judge Day demanded irritably, “You’re not backing 
down on us too, are you?” 

This was just the opening Folsom wanted. He lifted 
his head slowly and looked gravely at one and then the 
other. 

“No!” he stated emphatically. “I’m not backing down 
—I’m bucking up. I think you understand me when I 
say that. If you don’t, I’ll explain in a few words. If 
men like you did some real thinking and less worrying 
the results would be more satisfactory! I warned you last 


BEYOND PARADISE 


79 


time. I predicted you would be down on your knees 
begging for the women’s vote before another election.” 

He was about to make a demand upon his henchmen, 
and he was leading up to it with careful precision. It 
was his aim to make these men conscious of the preca¬ 
riousness of their positions. By proceeding slowly he was 
giving them an opportunity to feel the difficulty of the 
situation more keenly. Those who depended on him for 
public support were never allowed to forget that they 
were profoundly indebted to him. 

“Even a wise man is liable to overlook a safe bet,” 
Goodrich blustered. 

“But we evidently aren’t wise men!” interjected Day. 

“Under your supervision the Third District has been 
handled as well as any in the State,” confirmed Goodrich, 
ignoring what the other had said. “The Third isn’t 
worrying me. As long as you’re at the helm there we are 
assured of success. But you’ve restricted yourself too ex¬ 
clusively to that District in the past. My plan is this: I 
would like to have you take charge of the State election 
this Fall.” 

Folsom was pleased, with reservations. It always took 
some persuasion to convince him of the advisability of 
any innovation, any offer made in a spirit of bravado held 
little attraction for him. Goodrich had made his statement 
with apparent sincerity, but Folsom was wary. And he 
was right, for Goodrich thought he was effectively pat¬ 
ting this crafty politician on the back and throwing him 
off his balance. But under such conditions Folsom was 
wont to tread very warily, making demands, and refusing 
to commit himself. Whenever he did promise his aid, it 
was always contingent on something else, and he con¬ 
stantly held the sword over the heads of those with whom 
he dealt. 

“Is my opinion as valuable as that to you?” he asked 
skeptically. 

Goodrich could not very well temporize, now that he 
had definitely committed himself. Folsom had him just 
where he wanted him. 

“We not only need your opinion,” he said, “but we 
need your help as well.” 


8o 


BEYOND PARADISE 


And here Folsom sprung a surprise. ‘Then remove 
Jim Gleason from office!” he demanded. 

Goodrich gasped. Jim Gleason was State Fire Marshal, 
and as a result of political jealousy had a short time be¬ 
fore condemned a frame building in Waverly that be¬ 
longed to Folsom. This incident, which was an evidence 
of poor judgment on the part of Gleason so shortly before 
election, had increased the already bitter hatred between 
the two men. Folsom was determined to even the score 
by putting Gleason out of office. Gleason, however, was 
a cunning politician, and had been largely instrumental in 
electing Goodrich, giving him a strong hold on the gov¬ 
ernor. 

“You are asking the impossible,” blustered Goodrich. 

“Then you’ll do one of two things,” Folsom assured 
him. “You can’t raise sheep and wolves in the same 
pen.” 

“Just what do you mean?” 

“That you’ll have to drop one of us—that’s what I 
mean.” 

There was silence for a time. Folsom resumed his 
little game with the pebble. The judge and the governor 
watched him, Goodrich reflecting that he himself was in 
something of the same relative position to Folsom as the 
pebble. 

“I know Jim has treated you mighty rotten,” said Day 
at length. “I don’t blame you a bit for feeling the way 
you do. However, this is no time to deliberately create 
party dissention.” 

Folsom stopped tapping with his cane, but remained 
silent. 

“That’s it,” agreed Goodrich. “Discord at this time 
would mean disaster.” 

“Then you’d better prepare for disaster—unless you 
get rid of Gleason.” 

“Tom, I can’t believe that you’ve thought this over 
carefully,” remonstrated Judge Day. 

“If you had,” interposed Goodrich, “you’d see the im¬ 
portance of avoiding party strife at a time like this rather 
than creating it. That and the votes of the women are 


BEYOND PARADISE 


81 


the only things the opposition is building its hopes on. We 
can’t afford to let it come about!” 

“Don’t you see, that’s just what I’m trying to do,” 
said Folsom, making one of his well-known gestures with 
his cane. “But the more you talk the more firm I am 
in my opposition to Gleason! Unless he goes, my influ¬ 
ence will be thrown elsewhere.” 

“Gleason is no fool,” the Judge expostulated “He 
could do a lot of harm if he was turned loose.” 

“It takes a following to do that, and he hasn’t got it. 
Besides that, he’s in bad repute—favoritism has made him 
undesirable.” 

Goodrich studied Folsom critically. “Do you really 
believe that?” he asked doubtfully. 

“I know it to be the truth.” 

“Then you have my word that he’ll be asked to resign.” 

Folsom arose as he saw the Blakes, accompanied by 
his wife, drive up in their new sedan and stop for him. 
“I’ll consider the suffrage question and see you about it 
later,” said he, and limped toward the waiting car. 
“There’s a solution for it, all right,” he added, over his 
shoulder. 

And when he looked up he saw the answer—Marcia. 
******** 

It so happened that Blake was the only physician vaca¬ 
tioning at The Rockcliff. Early one Sunday morning 
there was a furious knocking on his door, and a voice 
called insistently, “Doctor Blake! Come quickly! Some 
persons have been drowned!” 

“Wait just a minute and I’ll be with you,” he called 
in answer, already out of bed and fumbling for his clothes. 
“Where are they?” 

“On Pier Four.” 

“Have them laid face down and keep raising and lower¬ 
ing the bodies at the hips.” 

A few minutes later Blake, scantily clad, emerged from 
his room. An excited man grasped him by the arm, and 
together they hurried along the veranda, stumbling over 
rugs, chairs and settees. 

The unfortunate persons were a girl of six years and 
her colored nurse. They had been in the water so long 


82 


BEYOND PARADISE 


that it required tremendous efforts to resuscitate them. 
The mother of the little girl, the wife of an up-state 
country grocer, was pacing wildly up and down the pier, 
denouncing the colored woman for having neglected her 
duty. Although the life of her child was at stake, the 
mother’s grief was diverted into the strangest channels. 
She protested loudly that she was paying the maid twice 
as much as she had ever received before, and that she 
might have shown her appreciation by attending faith¬ 
fully to her duties! To think that she had allowed the 
child to ruin her clothes when she was all ready to go 
to church! 

The little girl was the first to revive, and her mother 
began immediately to shower her with reproofs and ad¬ 
monitions. When the nurse was restored to conscious¬ 
ness, she turned on her with vehemence. “Grade Grace,” 
she shouted, gritting her teeth and speaking through them, 
“you’re fired! Don’t you come near my house again; I 
won’t let them take you there! Do you hear me?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” was all the bewildered Gracie could 
reply. 

“Where can we take her ?” Blake demanded, thoroughly 
disgusted with the woman’s callousness. 

“Me and my woman’ll take her in with us,” offered a 
colored porter. “Le’s take her right up, Budge,” he added, 
speaking to another of his race. 

“All right,” said Blake, “you do that and I’ll be over 
to see her in a little while.” And he hastened after Mrs. 
Harman, the child’s mother, who immediately became very 
affable, apparently oblivious to the distressing condition of 
her daughter. 

The Harman family lived in a cottage some distance 
back of The Rockcliff, where it was necessary to pass 
through a very undesirable collection of taverns and cot¬ 
tages to reach it. For the most part the occupants of 
these were actual trespassers when they availed themselves 
of the finely appointed bathing beach in front of the hotel, 
which was the exclusive property of The Rockcliff Bench 
Hotel Company. Mrs. Harman was one of these, but she 
went even further, posting all of her letters at The Rock¬ 
cliff, so they would bear its postmark and give her friends 


BEYOND PARADISE 83 

at home the impression that she was staying there as a 
guest. 

When the child was comfortably tucked in bed, Blake 
gave instructions for the mother to follow. 

“Come back this afternoon and see how she is getting 
along,” she urged as Blake was leaving. “I wouldn’t 
think of neglecting the youngster. Say, do you think the 
nigger girl will get well ?” 

“She has some water left in her lungs. . . . That 

sometimes terminates seriously. I’m going over now to 
see her.” 

Mrs. Harman lifted her head disdainfully. 

Gracie was in a serious condition when Blake arrived 
at the house to which she had been taken. The water re¬ 
maining in her air passages had settled to the lower part 
of her lungs making it necessary for her to struggle so 
desperately for breath that it required several persons to 
hold her in bed. With her hands above her head, she 
eventually raised herself to a sitting posture, uttering half- 
articulate words and sentences. 

“Don’ lemme die, Doctor,” was one appeal she brought 
out quite clearly. “I don’ wanna die!” 

“My God!” muttered Blake. “She’s instinctively fight¬ 
ing for life, as Phyllis did.” 

“What is you sayin’, Doctor?” demanded Gracie, hear¬ 
ing him mumbling. “Is I mos’ serious ?” 

“Not very,” he soothed her. But he dared not allow 
his thoughts go wool-gathering, for Gracie was sick and 
he must get to work. 

It was after mid-day before he thought it safe to leave 
her. The guests at The Rockcliff were congregated about 
the dining-room door, waiting for it to open, when he re¬ 
turned to his room to dress. Marcia was waiting for him 
as he came in, humming. 

“You poor soul,” she sympathized, “they don’t even 
give you rest up here.” 

“You know, Marcia,” he assured her, “I got a lot of 
satisfaction out of what I did this morning. The grati¬ 
tude of those poor colored people was very touching.” 

Marcia smiled. She was thinking of the time he had 


8 4 


BEYOND PARADISE 


objected when she applauded a colored act at The Or - 
pheum in Omaha several years ago, but she made no re¬ 
ply, listening to him whistling and humming w’hile he 
dressed. Yes, he had changed. He had changed for the 
better. 

******** 

Gracie developed pneumonia, and Blake, not having his 
kit with him, was unprepared to give the case proper care. 
Although the woman’s natural resistance was remarkable 
and her determination to recover even greater, it was 
extremely doubtful whether she would survive. Once 
more he mentally compared her case with that of Phyllis. 
The one was fighting to live and the other had fought 
to die. Yet it seemed that neither was to get her wish; 
he was receiving daily reports from Worth stating that 
Phyllis was making slow but certain progress toward re¬ 
covery. 

Then, a few days later, Gracie edged up to and passed 
through the crisis, and thereafter she made rapid im¬ 
provement. 

“You’ve made the grade, Gracie,” he assured her cheer¬ 
fully. “You’re the winner in one of the bravest fights I 
ever saw.” 

Gracie adored him. “I know I owes my life to you, 
Doctor Blake,” she said. “I wishes I could pay you. . . 

I never can—’cause I has nothin’ to pay you with.” 

“You could pay me by working for me,” Blake sug¬ 
gested. 

“Oh, lordy! I only wishes you meant it.” 

“I do.” 

“Honest?” 

“Yes. . . Honest. I want you to keep house for a 

widow whose husband died of ptomaine poisoning a short 
while before I came up here. She nearly died, too, and 
her condition is such that she will need an attendant and 
housekeeper for a long time. She asked me to find some¬ 
one like you for her.” 

Gracie pondered deeply. “You says work for you?” 
she reminded him. 

“Well, wouldn’t you take the position with her for me?” 

“Sure I will,” she conceded. “Ise willin’ to do mos’ 
anything for you, Doctor Blake.” 


BEYOND PARADISE 85 

“The two of you won’t have any trouble getting along. 
Margaret Jones is her name—Mrs. Margaret Jones.” 
******** 

Blake had all of his mail forwarded to The Rockcliff. 
There was a great deal of it, for he had many patients in 
distant towns who were continually writing for advice. 
Marcia did not like the idea. One morning, while he was 
occupied in opening letter after letter and carefully read¬ 
ing each one, she felt it was time for a wifely objection. 

“Why don’t you allow your mail to accumulate at 
home ?” she asked seriously. She did this, realizing it was 
not wise to interrupt him while he was busy. 

“What for?” he snapped. 

“The strain of reading and answering so many letters 
is too much like your routine work at home. You need 
relaxation.” 

“I wish you wouldn’t worry about me!” he said, with¬ 
out even looking up. 

Marcia said no more and continued her preparations to 
go in bathing with the eleven o’clock crowd. But she 
must and did worry about him, especially over his out¬ 
burst, which indicated an irritability quite new for him. 

“He works too hard,” she defended him in her own 
mind. “Unless I get him entirely away from it for a 
while he’ll go to pieces.” She studied him while she was 
putting on her bathing shoes. “But how silly I am allow¬ 
ing myself to become! A veritable picture of health like 
he will never suffer from a breakdown. He’s just a man 
—one of the millions of men who complain with the same 
vigor when women are over-attentive as when they are 
inattentive.” 

She was so quiet that he looked up to see what she was 
doing. When he observed her smiling to herself, appar¬ 
ently oblivious to him, he was gratified that she had not 
been hurt by his brusqueness. 

When she was ready to go down she asked: “You’re 
not going in the water now ?” 

“No, thanks,” he replied. “I had a dandy swim early 
this morning. I believe you were asleep when I got out. 
You know, I like to get out there when there isn’t such a 
crowd. I would go in again if I wasn’t busy with this 



86 


BEYOND PARADISE 


mail. You remember, we’re going to the Fair at Elmwood 
this afternoon.” 

“That’s so,” she said. “I had forgotten about that.” 

Blake was still busy with his correspondence when 
Marcia was ready to join the crowd of bathers. “Will 
you be here when I come back ?” she asked, brushing back 
his hair and kissing his forehead. 

“I’ll wait for you.” 

At the door she turned to look back at him. To think 
that a big, brainy man like him was devoting his time and 
efforts to making a home for her. Of course, he was 
just now giving his undivided attention to his letters, but 
that was also for her, indirectly. Ultimately everything 
he did was for her. 

Blake picked up a letter with a Washington postmark. 
He opened it nervously; it was from Lyman Curtis. He 
looked up to tell Marcia about it, but she was gone. 

“He’s coming to Waverly to see me about something 
very important!” he soliloquized, when he had finished 
reading the letter. And, looking again at the blurred 
signature, to satisfy himself that he was not mistaken, he 
added, “I can’t imagine what he wants to see me about— 
how it could be important enough to bring him all the way 
from Washington to see me!” 

He put the letter away with the others and went out to 
sit on the veranda; still puzzling, he dropped into a chair, 
idly watching the bathers. Marcia was that instant poised 
on the spring-board, her hands raised above her head, 
ready to plunge into the water. Even at this distance 
one was aware of her exquisite grace and the beautifully 
molded proportions of her body. 

“Marcia, you fascinating woman,” he thought ecstati¬ 
cally, hugging the thought that she was his very own to 
himself. “You make life interesting.” 

She disappeared. He was vainly attempting to catch 
sight of her again, when his attention was attracted by a 
dozen or more people alighting from the motor-bus The 
Rockcliff maintained on the two-mile run between the 
depot and the hotel. He thought he recognized one of 
them, a certain man who was standing apart from his 
fellow passengers with an air of indifference. 


BEYOND PARADISE 87 

“It’s Lyman Curtis, as sure as I live,” he said, getting 

U P‘ 

He raced down the steps. Curtis was giving orders 
to a porter about his baggage when he came down. Wash¬ 
ington had as yet not changed him in the least; he was 
the same Lyman Curtis, profuse as ever in expressing 
his delight at seeing Blake. 

“I want to talk to you—privately—at once,” he told 
the doctor. “Have you got time?” 

“Yes. Come up to the room.” 

“Is Marcia there?” 

“No,” said Blake, looking in the direction of the bathers. 
“She’s in the water. It’ll be some time before she’ll come 
in.” 

They started upstairs. Blake was extremely curious 
to hear what the man had to say, and was hoping they 
would not be disturbed until he learned the purport of 
Curtis’ visit. 

“I need your help,” said Curtis, without preamble, the 
moment the door had closed upon them. 

“My help?” echoed Blake. 

“Yes.” 

Blake waited for the other to explain, but Curtis was 
hesitant. “God, Blake, I’m ashamed to tell you. You’ll 
think I’m a cur.” 

Blake urged him to haste. “Hurry up and tell me 
what you’ve got to say. Marcia may come in any mo¬ 
ment.” 

“You see—” Curtis paused, as if at a loss to know how 
to proceed. “That is, I—I want your advice. . . And 

probably your help.” 

“Well?” 

Curtis handed him a letter. “Read that,” he demanded. 
“I believe that’ll explain the whole of it.” 

Blake took the letter and read it—twice. It was not 
of recent date and it was simply, signed ‘Phyllis.’ A hot 
anger siezed the doctor, making it difficult for him to 
restrain himself from killing the man who sat before him. 
Then he recalled what Phyllis had hold him. The matter 
was as completely settled as it could ever be. The taking 
of a life could only complicate it. 


88 


BEYOND PARADISE 


“Did Phyllis Girard write this letter?” he demanded. 

“Yes. ... Do you know her?” 

“At present she is one of my patients at the hospital in 
Waverly.” 

“Is she getting along all right?” asked Curtis, know¬ 
ingly. “Of course, I know she couldn’t be doing other¬ 
wise, under your care.” 

Blake knew him too well to take offense at the intima¬ 
tion. “She is—now.” 

“Was she very a—a—ill ?” 

“She was after she took the poison.” 

“Poison! Did she take poison ?” 

“What else would you expect a distracted girl to do?” 
asked Blake sternly. “If she had died you would have 
been her murderer!” 

“I realize that,” admitted Curtis, cringing. 

The situation was becoming even more complicated 
than he had anticipated. He began asking the doctor 
questions, some of which time only could answer. 

“There is only one honorable thing for you to do,” 
said Blake sternly. 

“I know what you’re thinking about, but marriage is 
out of the question. . . . That was thoroughly gone 

into when we realized how things stood. You know I’m 
not a bad sort, and I’m willing to do what is right. I 
wanted to marry her when she wrote that letter, but want¬ 
ing to do a thing does not always do it. I guess it was 
too late. I went to Williston purposely—secretly—at that 
time to do what I could, but she was gone. Blake, if you 
only knew! I’ve been half insane for days. We in¬ 
stinctively go to the friend we think the most of when 
we’re in trouble. And I’ve come to you.” 

Blake was inclined to doubt Curtis’ sincerity. He be¬ 
lieved the man had come to him largely to help himself— 
that he was trying to save himself from becoming further 
involved in a distasteful affair. 

“I’ve arranged to take care of Miss Girard,” he an¬ 
swered Curtis tersely. “She will live in one of my houses 
in Waverly. I’m having it put in repair while I’m away, 
and I’ve arranged for a colored woman to live with her— 


BEYOND PARADISE 89 

to keep house for her. Whatever you can throw in the 
hat will be appreciated.” 

The first of the bathers were now coming in. They 
could see Marcia crossing the road between the strand 
and the hotel, her left foot wheeling inward at each step 
in a walk characteristic of herself alone. 

“Someday I’ll have a chance to repay you,” Curtis 
hastened to assure Blake. “I’ll never forget. I’ll do my 
share, financially, to take care of Phyllis. You’ll hear 
from me soon in regard to that.” 

“What I did for her was done without a thought of 
reimbursement. Under the same circumstances, I suppose 
I would have done the same thing even for an enemy.” 

“Then it wasn’t for me that you undertook to care for 
her?” 

“No, it was not. I’m unable to say what prompted me 
to do it.” 

“I am indebted to you, nevertheless,” insisted Curtis. 
“You fulfilled at least part of my obligation toward her.” 

Blake was still skeptical of Curtis’ sincerity when 
Marcia came through the doorway, interrupting further 
discussion. 

But Curtis had a deeper regard for Phyllis than Blake 
gave him credit for. His conscience in regard to her had 
caused him genuine distress, badly fraying his nerves. 
The constant turning over in his mind of the abominable 
situation was driving him to distraction. It was true, his 
anxiety was not all for Phyllis’ plight, but he was far 
from considering only his own welfare, though he could 
see a thousand different endings to the situation, each of 
which involved him seriously. He was paying for his 
violation with a remorse so great that life seemed anything 
but worth living. He could not eat; he could not sleep; 
he could not rest. There was not a single phase of the 
affair for which he could not raise up a multitude of 
defenses. But his concern for Phyllis’ further well-being 
was quite genuine. 

“Who is the colored woman you have arranged with to 
take care of Phyllis?” he asked Blake when they next 
talked about her. 


90 


BEYOND PARADISE 


“Her name is Gracie Grace. You probably know her 
—she was here last year.” 

“Is she the one who did the chamber work on our 
floor?” 

“That’s her.” 

He went to see Gracie, and found her alone. 

“Come in, Mister Curtis,” she called when he knocked, 
having recognized him as he passed her window. “Come 
right in. Ise not conditioned to come to de door.” 

He went in. “You’ve been quite sick, I hear, Gracie.” 

“Yes. . . . Dropped in de water an’ I catches a 

bad cold. Who tol’ you about it ?” 

“Doctor Blake told me. He said he had been treating 
you.” 

“Say, now, ain’t he de bestest man you ever saw in all 
your whole life?” 

“Without a question. . . . But there’s something 

else I came to see you about. Doctor Blake told me you 
were going to Waverly to keep house for Phyllis Girard.” 

“Phyllis Girard?” the colored woman echoed. 

“That’s what he said.” 

“You mus’ have misunderstood him. Mrs. Margaret 
Jones is de one who Ise gwine to work for.” 

“I tell you her name is Phyllis Girard!” 

“U-u-u-u-u-u-m,” grunted Gracie, not understanding. 
“That sounds funny to me.” 

“Well, it’s really unimportant to you who she is. You’ll 
receive your pay and nothing else should interest you. 
That is why I’m here.” He took a notebook from his 
pocket and handed her several pieces of currency. “Take 
this,” he said. “You’ll receive more each month from 
Doctor Blake. . . . Don’t tell Phyllis about getting 

this money from me. Take good care of her, Gracie. . 

. You’ll soon know why I’m asking that of you.” 

“I proposes to go about my business an’ to keep my 
mouf shut.” 

Curtis forced a short, nervous laugh. “You’ll do your 
part fine, Gracie,” he assured her. “I know that. And 
remember, the better you do it the more—well, you know.” 

“Course I knows, Mister Curtis. Wasn’t you the mos’ 


BEYOND PARADISE 


9i 

generest person on my floor in that there hotel last year? 
Maybe I don’ remember that!” 

“But don’t remember my name when you talk to either 


Phyllis or Doctor Blake.” 


“Don’t you worry about that. . . 

forget all ’sinuations.” 

. Ise gwine to 

Curtis forced a sickly smile, and left. 

sjt sfc J|c a|c jJ: ;jc 

* * 


The presence of Lyman Curtis greatly stimulated Mar¬ 
cia’s vivacity during the remaining days of her summer 
holiday. Her gaiety and attractiveness greatly increased, 
which, when Blake observed it, made him jealously un¬ 
easy. He could not persuade himself that he had conv 
pletely supplanted Curtis in Marcia’s affections. The 
fact of marriage does not in itself eradicate all former 
attractions, even though on the surface it would seem to 
do so. There was also no doubt that Lyman Curtis still 
loved Marcia. The inhibitory center in the brain is not 
always strong enough to force the cravings of the body to 
conform to reason. Love cannot be placed, nor can it 
be recalled, once it has found its wings. 

Although Marcia was fond of associating with people, 
she had never, since the day of her marriage with Blake, 
turned her back deliberately upon him to seek diversion 
elsewhere. Whenever they were apart it was by his ar¬ 
rangement or because of his business, and to such separa¬ 
tions she never offered objection or made complaint, other 
than an occasional wifely admonition about applying him¬ 
self too closely to his work and injuring his health. It 
was impossible for a wife to be more sincerely devoted 
to her husband than Marcia was to Blake; still, she enter¬ 
tained an innocent admiration and liking for Curtis. 

Several times Blake had difficulty controlling a strong 
impulse of anger when he observed that Curtis was prac¬ 
tically monopolizing his wife. But for consolation he 
would fall back upon the thought that had come to him 
so suddenly the morning Jacques Dumont brought his son 
to him for a consultation: that time was the solution of all 
problems. Marcia’s friendship for Curtis had been too 
close a bond to be broken lightly. Ultimately Curtis 
would, by degrees, fill that treacherous vacancy in his life 


92 


BEYOND PARADISE 


created by Marcia’s marriage with other interests and 
other hopes. The doctor credited Marcia with knowing 
her mind as well as he knew his. 

******** 

Judge Day and Governor Goodrich were getting uneasy 
about Folsom’s attitude. He had not fulfilled his promise 
to give them an outline of the method he intended to 
employ in securing the women’s votes in his district. They 
had sketched plans of their own to be applied in other 
districts, but they had decided that Folsom, in order to 
be kept in line, must be given a free hand where he wanted 
it. They were anxious to know what progress he had 
made, for it was unthinkable that he had not been work¬ 
ing. But they had learned to fear him, and refrained 
from pressing him unnecessarily. However, since he was 
laying plans for a fishing trip, and was to return to 
Waverly immediately thereafter, they took the matter un¬ 
der advisement and concluded to ask him. Together they 
set out to find him. They encountered him on the strand 
in front of The Rockcliff, talking to Marcia. He invited 
them to find seats. 

“Right here is the spring that can release all the diffi¬ 
culties up in our country,” he advised them. “She can 
turn the trick as easy as that.” And he twitched his walk¬ 
ing-stick significantly. “She’s a convincing girl.” 

Marcia smiled, her eyes glowing with pleasure. She 
liked people who held responsible positions, and had al¬ 
ways felt that she would like to mingle with them. 

“Well,” speculated Goodrich, “what’s to keep us from 
going right ahead?” 

“It’s her. . . . She doesn’t want to go into it.” 

Goodrich frowned. “Of course, we’ll have to keep in 
mind that this thing is something entirely new to Mrs. 
Blake.” He looked at her as if he was not so certain about 
that. “Isn’t it?” he asked. 

Marcia indicated it was. She wished she could have 
denied it. 

Goodrich moved familiarly close to her on the bench. 
“I think she needs a little coaxing—women always do.” 

Folsom registered despair. “I’ve worked like a Trojan 
for a week trying to persuade her to come in with us.” 


BEYOND PARADISE 


93 


In her slight confusion, Marcia was very pretty. She 
was content to listen, with an inexplicable thrill, while 
these case-hardened politicians talked. They were big 
men in her native state. 

Judge Day, who had remained silent until now, offered, 
“Mrs. Blake could handle the entire feminine side of our 
campaign. The furore she created at the meeting of the 
State Federation of Women’s Clubs last winter has given 
her an invaluable state-wide reputation as a leader.” 

“A woman’s club won’t stand comparison with politics,” 
Goodrich reminded him pompously. 

Folsom turned on him fiercely. “That very attitude 
has placed you in the position you are now asking me to 
extricate you from! Don’t forget that primarily it was 
club meetings that gave women the courage to go in for 
suffrage, and that’s the channel through which we must 
gain their support—if we ever hope to have it. Mrs. 
Blake has made a name for herself in this state. No one 
is in a better position to handle the situation than she.” 

“That was the point I was coming to,” interrupted Day. 
“We would heartily welcome her support.” 

Goodrich stuck to his guns. “I shall be only too glad 
to accept her aid, but don’t confuse ladies’ club meetings 
with politics!” 

“Who is confusing things?” demanded Folsom. “Who 
is doing that?” 

Marcia thought it was time to make her position clear 
in the matter. “I don’t want to go into politics,” she 
objected. “My place is in my home. My time belongs 
to my husband.” 

Folsom was not certain that he could control his anger, 
not over what Marcia had said, for she had defined her 
attitude to him before, but over the way his political 
colleague—Goodrich—was conducting himself. 

“Mrs. Blake has informed me that she needs time to 
think the matter over,” he said, winking slyly at the others, 
indicating he desired to confer further with her alone. 
“Did you see Ramsdell, Judge Day?” 

“I did not,” was the reply. “We were looking for him 
when we came across you.” 


94 


BEYOND PARADISE 


The two men excused themselves and left. 

******** 

Sometimes even a high position, obtained through no 
merit whatever on the part of its incumbent, may become 
insignificant because of the one who occupies it. It was 
in such a light that Marcia regarded Day and Goodrich. 
She knew that Folsom's ideas coincided very closely with 
her own, only he was making a brave attempt to support 
these men for the sake of the value of their success to him. 
She was shrewd enough to understand that these two men 
were mere figureheads, ruled by Folsom and other men 
like him, who had no definite intention to commit serious 
ofifenses, but who would not stop to split ethical hairs in 
the accomplishment of their ends. 

“I will never go into politics,” she vowed. “Those two 
men have given me my fill.” 

Folsom always had an answer ready—if he wanted to. 

“What you saw a moment ago is the greatest reason in 
the world why you should do what you can to mend mat¬ 
ters,” he drove home the best argument he had yet ad¬ 
vanced. “Who is going to stamp out the corruption we’re 
constantly fighting if it isn’t done by someone who has 
sufficient insight to see through the situation—as you do?” 

Marcia thought seriously. “I can’t decide now,” she 
told him after a moment. “I must have more time to 
think. And the way I feel now, my decision will be not 
to enter politics.” Her gaze traveled from the water to 
the hotel. “I believe Don is waiting for me. Let’s go up.” 

On the way to the hotel they encountered Goodrich 
seated on a bench. 

“I’ll see you at the capital within a week,” Folsom said 
to him as they passed. 


Chapter V 

Immediately on arriving home, Blake resumed his 
medical and surgical practice with a vigor that surpassed 
all his former endeavors. The only other surgeon in the 
town had operated on one of his patients during his 
absence, under the pretense that the man’s condition was 
so critical that immediate, drastic means were necessary. 
This fired Blake’s ambition to a fever heat; he cast aside 
the cock-sure attitude he had assumed since the Dumonts 
had consulted him, and became again the hustler of old. 

For the time being he also forgot that he had assumed 
the responsibility of Phyllis Girard, thinking of her only 
as one of the many hospital patients under his care. It 
was not until a week later, when Gracie came to his 
office to inform him that she was ready to take up the 
duties of the position he had offered her, that he remem¬ 
bered his obligation to Phyllis. 

“Sit down,” he invited Gracie. “I suppose you’re still 
a little weak?” 

“I’se not weak no more,” she assured him, fearing he 
might suggest she should defer resuming work if she 
admitted feeling unfit. “I’se just dyin’ to do somethin’!” 

“Well, I’m not going to let you die on that account.” 

He wheeled around in his chair and called up Woods 
Booth, the contractor with whom he had arranged the 
repair of the house Phyllis and Gracie were to occupy. 
He was told that the place was ready for occupancy. 

“Mrs. Jones is still in the hospital,” he told the colored 
woman, turning from the telephone, “but she’s in shape 
to leave anytime. I’ll take you out there so you can look 
the place over and get it in shape to move in.” 

“That’s good. I wants to get busy.” 

Blake was not inclined to cast suspicion on himself by 
purchasing the necessary furniture for the house, so he 
decided to give Gracie the money and have her do the 
buying, paying cash as she bought. He busied himself 

95 


9 6 


BEYOND PARADISE 


jotting down items and prices, trying to arrive at some 
estimate regarding the amount of money such a transac¬ 
tion would require. Then, when he had checked over the 
list and added up the rows of figures, he secured a pon¬ 
derous check book from his desk and drew a check for 
three hundred dollars, taking it to the office attendant and 
asking her to have it cashed and bring him the money. 

“Do you know anything about buying furnishings for 
a house, Grade?” he asked when he came back. 

“I sure does,” she declared. “I bought mos’ all the 
things for our house when Amber Grace an’ me was 
married—the little we did get.” 

Blake smiled. “Here, look these figures over,” he 
said. “They show that three hundred dollars will buy 
enough for you and Mrs. Jones to get along with.” 

Gracie did not even stop to consider. “That sure will 
be sufficientness—of which I know.” In all seriousness 
she added, “I ’pose Mrs. Jones am better now?” 

Blake studied the black face and knowing eyes. Her 
emphasis on the “Mrs. Jones” had betrayed her. It con¬ 
vinced him that she knew more than he had told her of 
Phyllis’ identity, though he did not question her about 
it. He said instead, “She is still a little nervous, but much 
better.” 

Gracie settled back in her chair, her mind toying with 
visions of what she could do with three hundred dollars. 
Her day dreaming was interrupted by the girl coming 
in with the money. 

“There you are,” said Blake, handing the money to 
Gracie. “If you don’t need all of it to buy furnishings 
you may use what is left for provisions.” 

“What I won’t spend for furnishin’s an’ stuff will buy 
providing for us two for mos’ six months,” she assured 
him. “I’se the most economist person you ever saw. Just 
you watch what I can do, Doctor Blake.” 

“I knew you had ability along that line,” he compli¬ 
mented her. “That’s why I wanted you for this work.” 
******** 

Because his mind was concentrated so exclusively on 
his medical practice at the time when Gracie called, Blake 
had made a random notation on a piece of paper,—a 


BEYOND PARADISE 


97 


reminder to arrange with Phyllis to have her moved to 
the house he had prepared for her. He placed the slip 
in his coat pocket. But, in his anxiety to regain what 
he had lost during his stay at Lashaway, he promptly 
forgot about Phyllis and when he changed his clothes the 
following morning the note was left where he had put 
it the evening before. 

Marcia always followed in her husband’s wake, picking 
up clothes, underwear, collars, and any other wearing ap¬ 
parel he had changed. Her routine included a search of 
his pockets before sending the clothes to the laundry or 
cleaner. That morning, among other things, she came 
across a small piece of folded paper. Curious though she 
was to discover if there was anything written on it, she 
placed it on his dresser, together with a pencil and a 
penknife she had found in the same pocket, resisting a 
strong desire to unfold it. She continued with her work, 
trying to forget the little folded paper, but several times 
she found herself returning to the dresser. She found 
plenty to do arranging his effects, most of which were 
presents from her. Then, as if suddenly awakened, she 
became aware that the little piece of folded paper was 
beckoning to her. The lure was so persistent that at last 
she made herself feel justified in ascertaining whether it 
bore some message. It was much more likely that it was 
quite inconsequential, and Blake would consider it foolish 
if she saved it as if it were a thing of value. Finally, she 
picked up the innocent-looking little slip, and then found 
that she could not resist going further. 

‘Til see if there is anything written on it,” she salved 
her conscience. “But I’ll not read it if there is.” Her 
nimble fingers quickly unfolded the professional powder- 
paper tuck-in. “I wouldn’t do this if it were a sealed 
letter,” she declared to herself, “but I’m not going to 
read it, anyway. Just want to see if it has writing on it 
that is worth saving. An accumulation of worthless 
things makes rubbish.” 

There was writing on it—Blake’s hand. In the twin¬ 
kling of an eye she had read it; an uncontrollable impulse 
had driven her to do it. “Remember to move Phyllis 
Girard to house.” There was nothing unusual about it; 


g8 


BEYOND PARADISE 


apparently a purely business matter. Perhaps an order 
for someone. She felt guilty as she endeavored to return 
it to its former appearance, in which, after many attempts, 
she failed miserably. Then she studied the wording 
leisurely; the most important thing about the whole note 
seemed to be the way it was folded when she found it. 
It had seemed so entirely inconsequential—and yet, there 
it was! The obscurity of its message made her angry 
with herself. Why had she allowed herself to meddle? 
Still, the name Phyllis Girard was too familiar to her not 
to attach some importance to it—just the name. It was 
interesting to think she might be her husband’s patient. 
Could it be possible that she was one of the Williston 
Girards? She knew of no one by that name living in 
Waverly. 

Continuing with her house duties, she still paused to 
puzzle over it. Her failure to arrive at a satisfactory ex¬ 
planation made her uneasy. Her work no longer held her 
attention, yet her mind was too active to let her body 
rest. Driven by an impulse she could not explain, she 
telephoned to Folsom and definitely accepted the political 
itinerary he had outlined for her. The little note had 
settled that much, at least,—she was now a politician. 
******** 

When Blake came home at noon he looked bored and 
disgruntled. Things were not breaking right and to such 
a situation he always responded with an irritable temper, 
resulting in fatigue. Marcia had ceased to sympathize 
with him on these occasions, understanding him well 
enough now to know that remarks from her only added 
fuel to the fire. To appear as if everything w r as usual 
was the way to handle him when he was moody. 

“I’m going to Webster this afternoon,” he said as he 
came in. “Do you want to go along? If you do, let’s 
hurry.” 

His offer to take her along was a little extraordinary, 
for he had elected for some time to make his drives with¬ 
out her. Probably he was asking her to go because her 
uncle lived at Webster. The thought of Phyllis Girard 
flashed through her mind. In a spirit of pique quite un- 


BEYOND PARADISE 


99 

usual to her, she pretended to be busy at her writing-desk, 
giving it her undivided attention. 

“Can you wait a little while? I’d like to finish with 
this.” 

He came over to where she was. “I’ll wait all my life 
for you.” 

She looked dubious. “All your life?” she inquired 
coolly. “Really?” But at the same time she realized 
that she had mistaken the effect of professional pressure 
on him for moodiness. He followed her into the kitchen, 
throwing off the weight of depression while he helped her. 

“Let’s have our supper downtown tonight and go to 
the Country Club dance afterward,” he suggested when 
there was nothing left for him to do. “You work so 
hard and go out so little lately.” 

She laughed. There was mischief in her eyes as she 
replied, “That imputation is in conflict with my reputa¬ 
tion. Someone was heard to remark that Mrs. Folsom 
and I ‘gad’.” 

“Who said that?” 

“I don’t remember.” 

“That’s all wrong. The way you keep this house, and 
the garden, too, shows where you’re spending your time.” 

“Don’t you worry about me,” she said, using his own 
formula. “I have a splendid constitution. I need the 
exercise. I don’t want to become muscle-bound.” 

But he was insistent. “Well, you know what I mean. 
Get out more. It will let them know we’re still alive. 
You’ve got several dresses I’ve never even seen you wear.” 

“Do the wives of other doctors go about more than I 
do ?” she asked curiously. 

“They mix more.” 

“Mix more?” 

“Yes. They’re out boosting their husbands.” 

At last the purport of his insistence became clear to 
her; he was actually soliciting her support. She hurried 
with her work and joined him. 

“So that is what you think the wife of a doctor ought 
to do?” she asked. 

“Well,” he began to explain, “it isn’t necessary to make 


100 


BEYOND PARADISE 


a business of it like some do. I mean, you should get out 
more. ,, 

“I think I will.” 

She almost told him about her promise to Folsom, but 
a lack of confidence in her ability made her hesitate. 
The first steps, which were certain to create consternation 
among her friends, were the most difficult. 

Blake was fussing about with his cigar, preparatory to 
lighting it. He seemed to have forgotten the haste he 
was in when he came home. Suddenly he asked, “Did 
you send my clothes to the cleaners this morning?” 

“Yes.” 

“I left some things in the pockets. Did you find them?” 

He had thought of the memorandum and remembered 
that he had left it in his clothes when he had spoken to 
Phyllis that morning. 

Marcia got up. “I’ll bring them.” 

He fumbled awkwardly as he tucked the various articles 
away, the smoke from the cigar creeping annoyingly into 
his eyes. He stood up, saying, “I’ll have to run down 
to the office before going to Webster.” 

She noticed that he was purposely careless about the 
note, dropping it on the floor as he went out. 

“How soon will you come back for me?” she asked, 
following him to the door. 

“In about an hour.” 

******** 

Folsom, shrewd manipulator that he was, lost no time 
making Marcia ‘solid’ for politics, so he arranged to 
have a personal talk with her as soon as he could con¬ 
veniently get away after she telephoned to him. Fate 
allotted him the hour that Blake must spend at his office 
before going to Webster. He was not altogether sure 
of his ground. Marcia’s previous indecision—feminine 
fickleness, he called it—had taught him not to take too 
much for granted. And a political transaction over the 
telephone was not as binding as he desired to make it. 
Whenever he worked on subjects he wanted to be where 
he could study the effect he was having on them. 

He opened the interview in a note of familiar confi¬ 
dence. “Marcia, you’ve done me a great favor, perhaps 


BEYOND PARADISE 


IOI 


I should say honor.” With this he hoped to hold her 
to what she had promised. “But I tell you, the issue is 
worthy of your support, though if it were not I would 
still ask you to lend your name for my own sake. Your 
help is going to mean much to me, and who knows what 
I can do in return? You are proving yourself to be 
the good fellow I thought you were.” 

He paused to determine the effectiveness of his words. 

Marcia laughed, her blue eyes flashing. “You're all 
wrong, Mr. Folsom,” she declared. 

“I'm wrong? I wonder if I am wrong?” he mused. 
He turned to face her. “Why do you say that?” 

“I have a mind of my own,” she explained. 

“You mean—” 

“That you haven't talked me into this.” 

He felt as if someone struck him in the face. “Anyway, 
you’re going to stick?” 

“Of course.” 

“That’s the girl. Get into the fight. Primarily, that's 
the purpose in life; a worth-while person wants to be 
where the fray is the thickest. I’m not in it because I 
must be, but for the satisfaction that a hard-fought and 
just victory gives me. And some day I'm going to win 
—completely. You’re probably aware of the existing 
discord between myself and my colleagues. There’ll be 
only accord when I’m through. I want the assistance of 
people like you, whom I can trust, who are not afraid 
to assert themselves when they know house-cleaning is 
an imperative necessity. I’ll be in cahoots with my 
present associates as long as I haven’t the upper hand. 
You know, at times it is necessary to tolerate inferior 
people and their tactics to gain a point. That is what I’m 
doing.” 

Marcia was waiting for him to finish. “Since it’s de¬ 
cided that I’m going in,” she said, “just what do you want 
me to do?” 

“Are you willing to go on the speaking tour I proposed 
some time ago ?” 

“How long will it take ?” 

Folsom considered a moment. “About two weeks.” 

“I’ll go,” she agreed. 


102 


BEYOND PARADISE 


The quality of her voice left no doubt in his mind that 
he had won another victory. Such a thing as actually 
instituting reforms, if he ultimately gained the control 
he hoped for, had not even entered his mind. Despite 
what she had told him, he thought that he had beguiled 
her into politics with his cleverness, when, in fact, it was 
the note she had found in Blake’s pocket that had swung 
the scales. 

Blake had not returned when Folsom was ready to 
leave, so Marcia went downtown with him. Recovered 
from her petulance of the morning, she felt a little un¬ 
easy and remorseful over what she had done. But she 
found some justification for her action in the thought 
that Blake was too reticent in the expression of his 
opinions, leaving her almost wholly unaware of his likes 
and dislikes. At times she wished her husband was more 
outspoken and firm when she was seized with a desire 
or a whim she knew to be preposterous, for she lacked the 
self-control to regulate her impulses without help. 

When Marcia reached Blake’s office he was still busy, 
though there was no one waiting to see him. She sat 
down, preferring not to disturb him. At last she heard 
him discharging the patient through the side door, and a 
moment later he appeared in the waiting-room with his 
hat, presumably ready to start for Webster. He greeted 
her with a surprised, “Hello!” 

She smiled and nodded. “Are you ready to go now?” 

“Yes. I’m sorry I kept you waiting so long.” 

“I didn’t mind it,” she assured him. 

“Well, let’s go.” 

“I’d like to speak to you before we start,” she said, as 
if she might be afraid he would refuse to take her 
further if she told him on the way. 

“All right,” he said, retracing his steps to his private 
room. “Come in here.” 

She got up and followed him. 

“I did something awful, Don,” she said when they 
were inside. “It seems there’s always something hap¬ 
pening.” 

His jaw dropped, his brows knitted, his brain enter- 


BEYOND PARADISE 


103 

tained a thousand dread possibilities. “What did you do?** 

“I promised Mr. Folsom to go on a political speaking 
tour.” 

“Damn!” 

He was at once sorry he had said it, for he had given 
her numerous occasions to say the same thing. 

“You don’t want me to do it?” she asked, child-like. 

“I don’t.” 

“Then I won’t.” 

“But if you have promised, dear,” he said, “I think 
you should make good your promise.” 

It pleased her to find him giving in so easily. She 
had prepared a strong defense for a strenuous objection. 
She said, “I think so, too.” 

The electric buzzer called him to the telephone. “Y-e- 
e-e-s-s, Worth,” he said in a choked voice, “I’ll come right 
over.” He hooked up the receiver and turned to Marcia. 
“I’m wanted at the hospital,” he told her. “You might ride 
over with me.” 

At the hospital he was relieved to find the situation less 
serious than he had anticipated. Doctor Worth had sum¬ 
moned him when Phyllis, who had sufficiently convalesced 
to walk about the institution, showed symptoms of a 
relapse. What Worth thought was a threatened recur¬ 
rence of the stomach ecchymosis, was only a pallor in¬ 
duced by nervousness and fatigue. Blake had explained 
his plans for her future to her that morning, and with 
her brain sufficiently cleared to think consecutively, she 
felt the sting of her predicament more keenly than ever 
before. But she had said very little at the time, pre¬ 
ferring to suffer in silence the humiliation of accepting 
charity from him, which she knew she must eventually 
accept from someone. The pent-up pain of body and 
mind she had endured the past month, the renewal of it 
that morning, had combined to drive her to the point of 
madness. 

“You must get out of this place at once,” Blake ad¬ 
vised her. “This environment is constantly reminding 
you of things you should be forgetting. The house I’ve 
prepared for you is ready, and I’ll provide Grade with 
enough money to tide you over until you are able to 


104 


BEYOND PARADISE 


work. Out there you will have different surroundings 
and you will feel better. I know you and Grade will 
get along splendidly. I want you to go out there to¬ 
morrow.” 

Phyllis dared not look at him. Unable to control her 
emotions, she began to sob. She made several attempts 
to say something appropriate in acknowledgment of his 
goodness, but none of her thoughts would form them¬ 
selves into words. 

He was waiting rather impatiently for her reply, and 
when she seemed unable to decide, he made the decision 
for her. “I’ll tell Gracie you’re coming—tomorrow.” 

She turned to him appealingly. “Oh, thank you,” she 
faltered. “I thank you, so much.” 

5jcjjc;Jci|«Jlc5|e5|(5)e 

Folsom had left that same day for the capitol to con¬ 
sult with Governor Goodrich, to tell him, among other 
things, just what arrangements he had made with Marcia. 

“I’d like to know how you got started with that 
woman!” roared the governor. “I have reasons to believe 
that she’s against me.” 

“Who told you that?” 

“Well, I’m not asleep!” 

“You’re just imagining!” suggested the other. 

“Perhaps my confidence is shaken because I’m wor¬ 
ried.” 

“Let me assure you that I have her under control.” 

Goodrich thought an instant before he spoke again. 
“Now then,” he said, “presuming she was for me, how 
would we be utilizing her, anyway? I understand she 
hasn’t any ‘stumping’ experience.” 

“And still you think she’s liable to hurt you,” retorted 
Folsom. “Who figured this for you ?” 

“I did!” 

“Just like you did Gleason, I suppose?” 

“There’s something peculiar about that, Tom. Jim was 
waiting for me with his resignation when I came back 
from Lashaway. I’ve been wondering if Judge Day had 
a conference with him. You know, he came home before 
I did, but he was called to Washington before I had a 
chance to see him.” 


BEYOND PARADISE 


105 

“You recall what I said about him being in disrepute?” 
Folsom suggested. 

“Yes, I remember.” 

“Well, he’s been bought.” 

“Anyway, I’m glad we’re rid of him.” 

“Now then,” went on Folsom, “coming back to Mrs. 
Blake, irrespective of what you’ve heard about her being 
against you, we need her help up in our county.” 

“I haven’t the least confidence in her.” 

“I have—lots of it.” 

Goodrich stirred uneasily in his chair. “I don’t want 
her support!” 

Folsom shifted impatiently. “Goodrich,” he said, “I 
hope you are aware by this time that I can put you out 
of this office or keep you in it!” 

Goodrich was in a quandary. He was trying to decide 
whether to free himself from Folsom’s domination now 
or to continue to tolerate him until after election. He 
decided on the latter course. He further concluded that 
it was advisable to adhere to his old policy, giving Folsom 
an opportunity to entangle himself in his own machina¬ 
tions. which had so far defeated all insurgents of the 
Folsom type. He would give him time, which was sure 
to bring out something tangible to work on. 

“You’re right, Tom,” he said. “I owe you a great deal. 
You are in a position to know exactly what to do up 
there. If you didn’t, who would? Go home and do as, 
well as you have in the past. . . . That’ll satisfy me.” 

Folsom pulled himself out of his chair. He was lean¬ 
ing heavily on his cane as he limped over to extend his 
hand to the governor. 

“Rest assured that you’ll go over big in my community,” 
he said. “Goodrich, you’re going to be re-elected. Good¬ 
bye.” 

“Good-bye.” 

As soon as Folsom had left, Goodrich summoned Harry 
Willets, his chief lieutenant, national committeeman and 
real governor of the state, to his aid. He had accepted 
Marcia’s services because Folsom demanded it, but he 
wanted Willets to corroborate his opinion of her worth. 
It was possible that he was mistaken. 


io6 


BEYOND PARADISE 


'‘Who is this Marcia Blake ?” demanded Willets. “I'm 
sure I have never heard of her before.” 

“She’s quite a dabbler in women’s affairs,” Goodrich 
offered. 

“Well, women have gone into politics. I hope we’re 
not waking up to it too late.” 

“It’s possible that we’ve been napping.” 

“Well, most women are new at the business,” said 
Willets, apparently finding comfort in the thought. “I 
know I have never heard of Marcia Blake before in 
connection with politics. It’s seldom that an upstart 
causes much stir. So don’t let that worry you.” 

In spite of his words, Willets never considered any¬ 
thing of this kind lightly. He was a serious man and 
everything connected with his business was regarded 
seriously. But he had never been able to convince him¬ 
self that feminine ability was on a plane with that of 
men, so he was not much concerned over what “this 
Marcia Blake” might accomplish. Women were attractive 
creatures, and occasionally men ‘fell’ for them, but since 
he had never fallen he did not appreciate the effect their 
scheming might have. 

Ill-considered opinions frequently lead to prejudices, 
and Willets, who had always been capable of handling 
what his judgment recommended, put himself rather de¬ 
liberately into the hands of his prejudices rather than 
grow sentimental. Because of this his pursuit of women 
had no other goal than the pleasure he derived from 
studying human peculiarities. He tolerated women 
amiably because it was easier to tolerate than to take issue 
with them, forgetting, in the meanwhile, that there was a 
possible serious flaw in his initial line of reasoning. 

“Folsom is grooming her for a campaign tour up in 
his part of the country,” Goodrich continued after a 
while. “He was just in to tell me about it. I have no 
real objection to her, except that she may turn out to be 
a maverick if she should happen to make good. In that 
case, it’s possible that she may develop into a formidable 
foe. The whole thing is this,—I don’t know her well 
enough to trust her.” 


BEYOND PARADISE 


107 

Willets nodded his head. “So Folsom has concocted 
something again.” 

“He’s becoming more and more difficult,” continued the 
governor. I’ll admit, though reluctantly, I’m beginning 
to fear him. He is deliberately trying to make himself 
obnoxious to me. What do you suppose his motive is?” 

“To make a display of his power,” replied Willets. 
“Then, too, he’s maneuvering for a position to play a 
big game.” 

“I think you ought to go up and look things over.” 

“I’ll do that,” agreed Willets. “I’ve got to do it.” 

And they proceeded to discuss plans that took Willets 
to Waverly the following day. 

In Waverly a surprise awaited Willets. On his way 
he had formed a mental picture of Marcia Blake. He had 
mulled over the schemes he proposed to employ in dealing 
with her on his arrival in Waverly, for someone else had 
been selected to do the work Folsom had outlined for her. 
He visualized her as a scrawny, hard-faced, hard-voiced 
woman, seeking notoriety in this way because she did not 
recognize her own limitations. 

He was utterly dumfounded when he actually saw 
Marcia. To think of putting his well-laid plans into 
execution was now absurd. She was too womanly to be 
made an object of ridicule; he could see far more reason 
for a reversal of Goodrich’s suggestion, thus having her 
on their side. He admired Folsom for the first time in 
his life for having sensed the value of making a colleague 
of her. There was not the least doubt in his mind that 
she would make a pleasant associate, though he was ex¬ 
tremely doubtful whether her mild personality was the 
kind that would convince the voter. For, in spite of his 
intense personal admiration for her, Willets was quite 
certain that Marcia would be a failure in the political field 
if left alone. 

Although only a little past thirty, Willets was a man 
of the soundest judgment, and he was held in the highest 
esteem by members of his party, even by such men as the 
reactionary Folsom. Because he was known to be a deep 
thinker, a man who sternly adhered to his convictions, he 


io8 


BEYOND PARADISE 


had been party-leader in his state for a number of years. 
He had come to Waverly under the guise of friendship, 
to prepare an itinerary for Marcia that would work out 
to her disadvantage. Besides this, he was to help her 
draft speeches that would appear flawless to a political 
novice, but that were wide open for the severest and most 
disconcerting criticism from men such as he proposed 
to have follow in her wake. He had come to involve her 
in intrigue and cut short her aspirations as well as those 
of Folsom; but this bachelor, who had never found any 
woman interesting enough to make him even think of 
marriage, found everything in Marcia he had vainly 
sought in women all through life. It was easy for him 
to understand now why a man stops when he finds the 
right woman and lets the rest of the world go by. 

In discussing various phases of the situation, Marcia 
was pleased to know that Willets was a friend of Gov¬ 
ernor Goodrich. 

'‘He is such an impressive gentleman,” she said. Then, 
thinking of the way Folsom had bent him to his will at 
Lashaway, she added, '‘Still, when you know him, he 
seems almost too mild for a public man.” 

Willets agreed with her. “Goodrich is too temperate 
for his own good,” he said, drawing strongly on his im¬ 
agination in an effort to see his colleague the way Marcia 
was picturing him. “He allows the minds of other people 
to dominate him,” he added. “At times he permits this 
to reach the point of danger in order to avoid strife.” 

“Why does he place himself at the mercy of an un¬ 
grateful public?” Marcia wondered. 

“Ungrateful public?” 

“Yes. . . To be chosen or rejected by people who, 

many of them, really don’t know why they are casting a 
ballot ?” 

He replied with another question. “Why do you aspire 
to identically the same thing?” 

Marcia did not like his audacity. “Because it is neces¬ 
sary!” she said severely. “Just that is the reason! I’m 
volunteering my services in a cause that had its inception 
many years ago, and in which so little progress has been 
made that woman’s ability is open to question. I’m trying 


BEYOND PARADISE 


109 


to act as a stimulus—if that is possible. I know most 
men are alarmed at the wild things they think women will 
do, but you’ll find that our judgment isn’t so bad. I’m 
quite sure women will not be the sort of politicians who’ll 
grant favors because one hand is taking tainted money 
while the other is signing away the freedom of a fellow 
citizen.” 

Willets smiled. “You seem to think all men are—” 

“I do not,” she interrupted him. “That accusation does 
not include everybody—because they haven’t all been in¬ 
vestigated.” 

He smiled again, thinking how utterly mistaken he had 
been when he thought he was going to Waverly to deal 
with a novice. Because he enjoyed listening to her, he 
asked, “Are you anxious to hold an office?” 

“I am not,” was her simple reply. 

“You’ll be glad when your opportunity comes to do it.” 

“If I ever find it necessary to hold an office,” she said, 
“I’ll try to conduct myself in such a manner that I won’t 
have to be investigated.” 

For a time there was silence. Willets, presuming that 
he was dealing with a woman of temperament, decided 
that he must choose his words carefully if he was to gain 
her confidence, for he was now fully determined to make 
her his ally instead of a scapegoat. 

At length she broke the silence. “Tell me just why you 
are here, Mr. Willets.” 

“Let us be reasonable about this matter,” he began. 
“Don’t judge me until I’ve given you the details. I came 
here to deceive you, but I won’t. Thomas Folsom was 
at the capital yesterday and conferred with Governor 
Goodrich. He indicated he was using you as a stepping- 
stone, to which Goodrich had no objection as far as you 
are concerned, but Folsom’s attitude worried him. So 
he called on me and we consulted over the matter. We 
finally decided on my trip up here. I was to employ every 
means at my command, if they were all necessary, to lure 
you into a political trap and then hold you up to ridicule. 
In that way we proposed to knock down one of the props 
on which Folsom was resting his laurels.” Willets un¬ 
buckled a portfolio and took from it a sheaf of typewritten 


no 


BEYOND PARADISE 


sheets. “Here is how the cards were stacked against you,” 
he continued. “You were to make speeches that are out of 
harmony with party-policy. You were to go on a speak¬ 
ing tour that would have conflicted with other programs, 
which would have placed you at a serious disadvantage. 
It was our intention to send two men here, one to precede 
and one to trail you, as if representing the opposition, to 
stir up agitation against you and against everything you 
said. But your womanliness made me reconsider the in¬ 
stant I saw you. In repentance I shall spare no effort to 
make you successful. But, first of all, I want to appeal 
to you, honestly and honorably, to remain out of politics. 
Once you begin you’re in it for good. A political life is 
no life for a woman like you.” 

Marcia looked at him calmly. “I believe you are sin¬ 
cere, Mr. Willets,” she said. “But why are you?” 

“I don’t know,” he replied with a puzzled smile. “The 
many inexplicable things in it makes the world interest¬ 
ing.” Then he turned serious again, adding, “What is 
your decision—now? Are you still determined to enter 
politics ?” 

“Why, certainly! I intend to proceed without altering 
a single plan I’ve made.” 

“Then count on my help.” 

She could think of no reason why she should reject his 
offer. “I’ll be glad to have it,” she accepted. 

Several days later Folsom, full of fight, returned to 
Waverly. On the way home he was informed that Willets 
had been in town during his absence to consult with 
Marcia, which he considered the greatest misconduct on 
the part of a political colleague, especially since Goodrich 
had agreed not to interfere with him in his allotted terri¬ 
tory. He went to see Marcia; he was severe when he 
pointed out her mistake. 

“In this you’re responsible to me!” he warned her. “To 
me and to no one else! Be sure you understand that!” 

If she had not regarded him as a friend she might have 
resented his advice vigorously. But she was determined 
not to make enemies through her new venture, and she 


BEYOND PARADISE 


hi 


said placatingly, “Please, Mr. Folsom, I wish you to un¬ 
derstand that I’m still mistress of my own convictions.” 

“I—I mean,” he stammered, “I’d like to know where 
I stand.” 

“Don’t you think it would have been better if you had 
found that out before becoming so dictatorial?” 

“I did not mean to dictate, Marcia, though I may have 
given you that impression. I want to know how we stand. 
To whom are you going to account, Willets or myself?” 

Marcia felt that she was about to say something that 
would bring her friendship with the Folsoms to a sudden 
termination, and she had learned to care enough about 
these people to make her hesitate before she replied. 
Down deep in her heart she wished she had never heard 
the word ‘politics/ and she silently vowed that her 
affiliation with it would immediately and forever end with 
the Fall election. 

“I’m not taking orders from anyone,” she said very 
slowly at last. “I shall always welcome advice and sug¬ 
gestions from you, but my own judgment will guide me.” 

“Well, we’ll see.” 


Chapter VI 

Summer was on the wane. The days were growing 
perceptibly shorter, and although still uncomfortably hot, 
people were by instinct preparing for the Autumn. Only 
the stragglers had not yet returned from their Summer 
holiday. Great flocks of birds were gathering for their 
southward migration, and the farms in the vicinity of 
Waverly were shorn of their crops. 

It was on one of these hot, late Summer days that 
Blake was driving through the country many miles from 
Waverly, not on a professional call, as one might suppose, 
but because he felt the necessity for new, changed scenes. 
The very thought of home and the town in which he 
lived had become distasteful to him, because Marcia was 
now away almost constantly, campaigning with all the 
ingenuity that her limited experience would permit. 

“I could forgive you for getting her into this,” Blake 
had told Folsom, “if the poor girl knew how to defend 
herself against a pack of jackals such as she is dealing 
with.” 

Folsom had shrugged his shoulders. “We all have to 
learn.” 

And yet, through her untiring efforts, Marcia was meet¬ 
ing with unexpected successes, which encouraged and 
lured her on. 

At first she had arranged her schedule so that it was 
possible for her to return home at night; then, as her 
itinerary took her further and further away into the re¬ 
mote parts of the district, and the demands on her to 
hold night sessions became more and more insistent, she 
remained away three or four days at a time. On these 
occasions she would speak to Blake over the long-distance 
telephone after the night meeting; but frequently he was 
away on professional business when her call came and he 
would not hear from her for days at a time. 

Today, as he drove along the lonely road, a by-path 


BEYOND PARADISE 


113 

leading to the main highway between Williston and 
Waverly, lined on either side with echinacae and wild sun¬ 
flowers that thumped monotonously on the fenders and 
the body of his enclosed automobile, he thought of 
Marcia. He was wondering if it were possible that her 
interest in him was on the wane, for she had behaved very 
strangely of late. How much more of her time would 
she give to politics? Had he, for both his and her sakes, 
done the right thing when he consented to her going on 
these tours? Should he ask her to discontinue them? 
What to do was a vexing problem; but, understanding 
Marcia as he did, he knew that she was too inflexible to 
be called back from a thing that was half finished. Then, 
too, he was not resilient enough to easily think of rescind¬ 
ing what he had granted. 

Near the junction of the two roads he slackened his 
speed. He was now on a high hill that sloped gently to 
the southward, disclosing a wide expanse of level country 
that stretched away from either bank of a broad river. 
Here and there drainage ditches and railway lines cut the 
otherwise perfectly checkered fields into triangles and 
rectangles. In the midst of these fields, on the north 
bank of the river, lying placidly under a lazy haze of 
factory smoke, was Williston. 

He brought his automobile to a standstill, undecided 
which way to turn; nor did he care to decide, for a while 
at least. He was going nowhere in particular. And the 
sight of Marcia’s home town in the distance gave him a 
peculiar sense of satisfaction. He remained there for a 
long time, meditating. At last, when the sun had crept 
below the green visor on his windshield, he roused him¬ 
self. At about the same time the roar of a powerful 
motor car reached his ears. Though he could not see it, 
he knew that it must be traveling at a dizzy rate of speed, 
and from the long, furiously agitated cloud of yellow dust 
left hanging in its wake, it was evident that the car was 
approaching him from the direction of Williston. Almost 
instantly, the car hove into sight over the last knoll that 
lay between them, flashing past a moment later. But the 
speed was not too terrific for Blake’s sharp eyes to discern 
positively that one of its occupants was Marcia; the other, 


BEYOND PARADISE 


114 

the driver, was a man. Blake, known as one of the fastest 
drivers in Waverly, looked after them in horror. 

“Marcia!” he gasped. “What is making her take such 
chances? Why does she permit such recklessness?” 

He started his motor and set off in pursuit. Their ma¬ 
chine was disappearing behind a distant hillock when he 
turned into the state highway, the yellow clay dust not 
quite so thick as it had been. They had evidently slack¬ 
ened their speed, but Blake for some reason was seized 
with an irresistible desire to overtake them. His speedy 
car rapidly gained momentum, swaying perilously as it 
dashed over the hills, making Blake speculate what might 
happen if anything went wrong. He was rapidly narrow¬ 
ing the distance between himself and the automobile he 
was determined to overtake, when it seemed to suddenly 
take wings, and he was left hopelessly in the rear. He 
resolutely followed the fleeing car, driving through a con¬ 
stantly thickening curtain of blinding dust at the risk of 
his life. 

Then there was no more dust. The end came as 
abruptly as its appearance at the cross-roads, when the 
first sound of the motor reached Blake. He applied his 
brakes sharply, the soggy condition of the road nearly 
throwing him off the high, narrow grade. 

Far down the side of the embankment, deep in a plum 
thicket, was the automobile that had been traveling so 
furiously, totally demolished. Blake’s car had hardly 
stopped when he jumped out and hastened to the wreck¬ 
age, from under which agonized moans were issuing, as 
well as a slender curl of black smoke. 

Marcia was lying by the side of the car, held captive 
by her arm, which was pinioned between the door and its 
frame. Blake knelt down and began extricating her. He 
worked cautiously to avoid further injury to her arm, for 
the least movement of her body or the wreckage seemed 
to intensify her pain, though at times she struggled to 
free herself. Apparently her efforts were instinctive, for 
her eyes were stark and she maintained an incoherent 
chant. Her face was deathly pale, and when Blake suc¬ 
ceeded in freeing her, she collapsed utterly. He carried 


BEYOND PARADISE 115 

her hastily up the steep bank and placed her on an im¬ 
provised bed made of a robe and a linen dust-coat. 

Then he returned for her companion, but the man whom 
he had seen driving the automobile was nowhere to be 
found. He searched for him in the grass and bushes 
nearby, and failing to find him, he put his powerful frame 
against the wreckage and gave a mighty shove, turning it 
over and sending it rolling further down the bank. The 
body of an unconscious man, a stranger to Blake, was re¬ 
vealed half buried in the soft earth when the now flaming 
mass was removed. Blake gathered him in his arms and 
dragged him to safety, some distance from Marcia. 

“It looks as if he were done for,” murmured Blake 
when the man showed no sign of life. His mangled legs 
were horribly out of line with his body. An examination 
of the heart revealed that it was beating, although when 
Blake inserted a hypodermic of strychnine there was still 
no evidence of life. 

Just then there was a terrific detonation, indicating that 
the fire had reached the gas-tank. Marcia revived suffi¬ 
ciently to hear it. “My God!” she whispered. “My 
God!” 

Then she again lapsed into unconsciousness. The 
movement caused her injured arm to resume bleeding, the 
blood oozing through the temporary dressing Blake had 
hastily applied. He removed the soiled bandages and 
applied a styptic to the wound, the action of the astringent 
and the snug bandaging making her wince reflexly; but 
despite her rousing her breathing was shallow and the 
heart action bad. He had a little brandy in his case and 
he gave her a sip of it, then turned his attention again to 
her companion. He raised the man’s head and slowly 
poured what liquor remained in the vial into his mouth. 
The reflexes compelled him to swallow; it was the first 
sign of life he had shown. Blake hastened to do what he 
could for the man’s injuries before he should become con¬ 
scious of pain. Splints, made from pieces of the destroyed 
automobile and padded with grass, were applied to his 
broken legs, while the cuts on his body and face were 
dressed with what makeshifts Blake found in his emer¬ 
gency case. 


n6 


BEYOND PARADISE 


Marcia was by now tossing and moaning pitifully, and 
Blake turned his attentions to her. He was compelled to 
restrain her forcibly, and the resistance she made to his 
efforts seemed to sap the last of her vitality. Her ap¬ 
pearance grew very alarming, making Blake extremely 
doubtful whether she was able to react from the shock 
resulting from her injuries. For the first time in his life 
he grew panicky. When Marcia lay quiet he feared she 
was dead, and when she struggled for breath he was sure 
she was dying, but in both contingencies he was utterly 
helpless to do anything for her. Although a very able 
doctor in the routine practice of medicine, her condition, 
complicated by his absorbing love for her, completely 
baffled him. Just when he was about to give her up as 
lost, Marcia surprised him by opening her eyes in a be¬ 
wildered stare. 

He knelt down beside her; she frowned and gazed about 
vaguely, as if trying to put together something her mind 
was unable to formulate; she touched her injured arm 
gently in several places, each contact causing her a twinge 
of pain. She was mystified because she found herself 
unable to move. For some time she vaguely studied 
Blake, who was bending over her, whispering, ‘‘Marcia, I 
love you, dear.” 

She closed and opened her eyes, several times, irritated 
that she could not associate the sound of the voice with 
the shapeless, meaningless blur that was hovering over 
her. At last she drew her hand over her eyes, as if 
brushing away something that was obscuring her vision; 
then her hand passed slowly from her face to his. 

“Donald!” she murmured, trying to raise herself. “How 
is it that you are here?” 

He held her tenderly in his arms. “I’ll take care of 
you, dear, don’t worry. You are hurt—quite badly. 
Please be quiet.” 

“I ache all over,” she complained. “My arm is the 
worst, though.” 

“It is severely cut. . . . But it will be all right. 

Everything will be all right.” 

She moved a little, making feeble efforts to get up, 


BEYOND PARADISE 


ii 7 

driven by the intense pain. But she fell back exhausted. 
“Oh, I am so sick,” she gasped. 

“Don’t move, please,” Blake implored her. “I’ll give 
you something to ease the pain.” He took several pellets 
from a carton in his kit. “Take these,” he said. “They’ll 
make you feel better.” 

“Boo—they’re bitter,” she shuddered. “And I can’t 
swallow them without water. My mouth is so dry.” 

He gave her a sip of the claggy water he had drained 
from the automobile radiator when he prepared the hypo¬ 
dermic for her companion. Although it undoubtedly was 
more distasteful than the medicine, she did not object to 
it. Then he rearranged the things on which she was 
lying, trying to make her more comfortable. 

“There, now,” he said. “How’s that?” 

“That’s better,” she thanked him. 

“If you are comfortable I’ll go over and see how your 
companion is getting along,” he suggested. 

“Yes. ... Mr. Willets. Where is he?” 

So the man was Willets. She had told Blake about 
this man the last time she had talked with him over the 
telephone. He had surmised that the unconscious man 
might be Willets, but he had not been sure. 

“He’s back there,” he said curtly. 

“Is he hurt?” 

“Yes.” 

“Very much?” 

“Quite severely.” 

“More than I am?” 

“I think so.” 

“Then go to him,” she begged. “He probably needs 
your attention more than I do.” 

Blake left her without replying. He found Willets 
painfully conscious of his injuries. Blake gave him some 
of the same kind of pills Marcia had taken, and when 
Willets appeared to be resting easier, returned to his wife. 

“How is he?” she asked. 

“He is all right,” he told her. “Don’t worry. . . . 

about him.” 

She thought he had spoken a little testily. 

“This is all my fault,” she assumed the blame. 


ii8 


BEYOND PARADISE 


“I saw who was driving!” 

“I hope you won’t hold this against him, Donald. It 
was I who made him drive so fast. We were keeping 
ahead of another car that left Williston just as we did, 
and when I saw it was gaining on us, I urged him to 
speed up. Mr. Willets did as I told him, and instantly 
we seemed to fly. Then .... came the crash. It 
wasn’t his fault, Don, that this happened.” 

“I understand. Just be quiet.” 

Passing automobilists stopped and offered their services, 
though there was little they could do except look on 
curiously. Blake commandeered one, however, to go to a 
neighboring farmhouse and telephone for the Waverly 
ambulance. 

When the ambulance arrived, Harry Willets was taken 
to the Waverly hospital, where for a week his life hung 
in the balance. At times it seemed that the vital spark 
must flicker out, and even the optimistic Blake despaired 
over the condition of his patient. Then, in a most re¬ 
markable way, the native vitality of the man responded to 
his strong will-power. The guttering flame seemed to 
have ignited a reserve energy somewhere deep within him, 
renewing his hold on life. After that his improvement 
was gradual but certain, and it was not long before he 
was able to take up the management of Goodrich’s cam¬ 
paign from his bed. 

Marcia, her arm still swathed in bandages, had resumed 
her campaigning activities, that were now taking her over 
the greater part of the state. She was sending reports 
home that everywhere she was enthusiastically greeted, 
and that her success was progressively mounting. In 
some mysterious way it seemed that somehow her drawing 
power had been enhanced. 

******** 

“You’ll be able to leave the hospital in a few days,” 
Blake consoled Willets when he began to fret at his en¬ 
forced inactivity. “You’ve become an old standby here,” 
he added. “I think I’ll let you out just four weeks to the 
day that you were brought in. Time flies, doesn’t it?” 

“Not for me,” Willets disagreed. He pointed to the 
weights and ropes still attached to his legs, adding, “I’d 


BEYOND PARADISE 


119 

rather be in jail than have these things to contend with.” 

“I left them on purposely to keep you quiet,” Blake 
bantered. 

“Every day I’ve been here has seemed like a month,” 
Willets complained. 

His nurse interposed with mock reproof. “We thought 
you were enjoying your stay here, Mr. Willets.” 

He hastened to tell her that she had misconstrued what 
he had said, explaining that his stay in the hospital had 
been made as comfortable, and even enjoyable, as such an 
experience could possibly be, inferring, of course, that it 
had been her care that had made it so. 

The nurse, accustomed to such idle flattery, was per¬ 
fectly poised. “I wasn’t looking for compliments,” she 
explained. “But I thought possibly your complaint might 
be misleading to Doctor Blake.” 

“Let me make myself clear,” Willets declared. “My 
stay here has convinced me that nurses are angels.” 

Blake smiled. “I want to be considered an angel, too,” 
he explained, “so I’m going to remove those weights and 
splints right away.” 

As he rose to take off his coat he thought he noticed 
a significantly tender glance pass between Willets and the 
nurse. Probably because he was anxious that they should 
be attracted by each other, it seemed to him that their in¬ 
terest was not altogether superficial. But he was entirely 
wrong in his conclusion. Their concern for each other 
was much the same feeling Blake himself cherished for 
Willets; he represented a life he had saved, not alone by 
his medical and surgical skill, but with the aid of his un¬ 
usual physical strength which had enabled him to release 
Willets from the burning car. 

“You’ll want the dressing cart, Doctor?” the nurse 
asked crisply. 

“I think I will.” 

She whisked noiselessly out of the door, her rubber- 
heeled shoes were making only the softest patter as she 
walked along the corridor. 

“She’s a mighty fine girl,” Willets remarked. 

“They have a dandy lot of nurses here,” agreed the 
doctor, busying himself with the weights. 


120 


BEYOND PARADISE 


“You’re sure you’re not hurrying things too much, 
Doc?” Willets wanted to know. “I’d rather stay a week 
longer than is necessary than leave an hour too soon.” 

“It’s time to put your stiffened joints into motion,” 
Blake explained. He examined the fractures by lightly 
palpating the calloused bone through the bandages. “That 
break in the ankle might be permanently ankylosed in 
another week,” he added. “I’m not certain that such isn’t 
the case even now.” 

Blake had failed to take into consideration the fact that 
Willets’ understanding of medical terms was limited. 
What he had said put his patient in grave doubt as to the 
condition of his injuries. He regarded his bandaged foot 
with apprehension, then moved the toes carefully. 

“Look at that, Doc,” he said gleefully. “They don’t 
act like cripples.” 

Blake laughed. “No, they don’t; but that doesn’t sig¬ 
nify anything.” 

“Well, you know best.” And Willets subsided. 
******** 

The following few days were the loneliest Blake had 
spent since his marriage. Marcia had been continuously 
away a fortnight; the demands on her for speaking dates 
that were not on her regular schedule were so persistent 
that she found it difficult to decline any of them. In 
assuming this extra work she seldom had more than a 
few hours out of the twenty-four to herself, and she used 
these for rest and recuperation rather than for making 
the long and tiresome journey home. 

Because he craved companionship, Blake was counting 
the days until Willets would be discharged from the hos¬ 
pital, for he had promised to spend his out-of-the-hospital 
convalescence at the Blake home. A few days before 
Willets’ coming, Blake requested Pansy, the maid Marcia 
had vowed never to employ, and the only person to share 
the house with him since his wife had aspired to a political 
career, to prepare the guest room for the anticipated 
visitor. 

Pansy was a deliquescent sort of person past thirty, 
who had never married. There was something peculiarly 
self-effacing about her. Blake never saw her except when 


BEYOND PARADISE 


121 


he went into the kitchen or when he rang. She placed a 
list of questions beside his plate every morning at break¬ 
fast, and he invariably wrote his answers on the suffi¬ 
ciently wide margin of the same paper. It was through 
this medium that he had informed her he intended to 
have Willets as his guest. 

The service of meals was announced by two taps of the 
bell on the table, and it made no difference how promptly 
he entered the room following the sound of the bell, she 
was never there. Because Blake eventually became inter¬ 
ested in this game of evasion, he had on several occasions 
attempted to trap her, but always without success. He 
invariably found the room as deserted as if no one had 
been in it for days, except that there was hot, savory food 
on the table; even the swinging door between the kitchen 
and dining-room was motionless. 

Then one day she astounded him by approaching him 
unceremoniously. “Doctor Blake, I wish you would look 
for another girl to do your work. I am going to leave. ,, 

“You are going to leave ?” 

“Yes, at once.Before Mrs. Blake comes 

home.” 

In spite of her mild eccentricities her services were 
highly satisfactory, and he disliked the idea of having to 
replace her. 

“Why are you leaving, Pansy?” he asked. 

To him she was just Pansy; whatever her other name 
was did not concern him. He did not remember ever hav¬ 
ing heard her surname, if she had one. 

She showed signs of embarrassment. “I must leave be¬ 
fore your wife comes back,” she insisted. “I did some¬ 
thing dreadful!” 

Blake’s face brightened. “Now, Pansy, you haven’t 
done anything dreadful. You’re just imagining things!” 

“Oh, yes, I did. You’ll think so, too, when I tell you.” 

“Tell me, what did you do?” 

She was retreating down the hall toward his bedroom. 
“I’ll show you.” In a moment she came back with a 
broken ivory geisha girl. “I broke that this morning when 
I was cleaning,” she said. “Mrs. Blake thought so much 
of it. She told me you carved it for her and she wouldn’t 



122 


BEYOND PARADISE 


part with it for anything in the world. It was the only 
thing she cautioned me to be careful with.” 

‘‘I remember how pleased she was when I gave it to 
her,” he admitted. 

‘‘I am sorry I broke it. ... I liked it here.” 

Certain thoughts recurred to Blake’s mind that had 
come while he was working on the geisha girl—that was 
during the first winter of his acquaintance with Marcia. 
The carving was the last he had attempted, as if Marcia 
had come into his life to replace a hobby he had ridden 
since his grammar school days. His thoughts went back 
and dwelt on his first piece of work of this kind that 
had created what he considered at that time a noteworthy 
impression; it was a likeness of his teacher, carved on the 
back of his school desk. He very vividly recalled the five 
stinging lashes his teacher had administered across each 
open hand with a leather quirt. His thoughts retraced 
the years that followed. During those years he had carved 
everything from pipes to bas-reliefs, from materials 
ranging from peach stones to semi-precious gems. But 
the thing had become a lost art with him, and he was 
satisfied that it should be that way. 

He turned to Pansy. She was standing waiting to re¬ 
ceive sentence. “Never mind a little thing like that,” he 
assured her. “The piece was quite unimportant. We can 
get along without it.” 

“It wasn’t unimportant to Mrs. Blake,” Pansy insisted. 
“I couldn’t stand to face her.” 

“Don’t say anything about it. She won’t miss it.” 

“She will. ... I know she will. I want to pay 
you for it and leave today, Doctor Blake.” 

For a moment Blake was in a quandary to know how to 
persuade Pansy to remain. Then he solved the problem. 
“I know how to fix that,” he told her. “I’ll carve an¬ 
other.” 

And so it was Pansy who caused him to resume the 
art of lapidary, which was to be of such a great help to 
him later in life. 

******** 

Events were shaping rapidly. Marcia had returned 
home triumphant, hailed as the ablest woman campaigner 


BEYOND PARADISE 


123 


in the state. The Fall election had come and gone. Gov¬ 
ernor Goodrich had been returned victor with the largest 
plurality that had ever elected a governor in that state. 
Judge Day had died on the eve of the election. Harry 
Willets, still a guest in the Blake home, had received word 
of his appointment to a high political position in Washing¬ 
ton. 

Of the lesser events, even as concerning Blake, the 
birth of Phyllis’ baby might be mentioned. It was a boy, 
whom she named Curtis, for she felt that the child was 
entitled to that much from his father. Doctor Worth, 
the attending physician, reported favorably on the condi¬ 
tion of both mother and baby. This was especially grati¬ 
fying to Blake; the satisfaction of having redeemed what 
had seemed so hopelessly lost was beyond material mea¬ 
sure. Then he recalled that he had neglected to make 
even the smallest contribution toward the household of 
Phyllis and Gracie since they began housekeeping. The 
last time he had seen Phyllis was when she had left the 
hospital, when she had climbed in Worth’s car and 
waved back at him as he stood watching them. 

He sent for Gracie. It seemed hours before she ap¬ 
peared. When a thing was out of his thoughts it was out 
completely, but when a transaction required his attention 
he was never satisfied until it had been concluded. Al¬ 
though he was busy with patients, he frequently looked at 
his watch, and once he even surveyed the occupants of 
the waiting-room to satisfy himself that Gracie had not 
yet made her appearance. Then her arrival was an¬ 
nounced. 

“How are things going, Gracie?” he asked when her 
broad feet had clumped to a chair and she had dropped 
into it. “Haven’t heard from you for months. Don’t 
you remember me telling you to call on me when your 
funds ran low?” 

“Our funds ain’t got low yet, Doctor Blake.” 

“They haven’t?” he said, surprised. “Do you mean to 
tell me that the two of you have lived all this time on 
what was left over from three hundred dollars?” 

“No. ... No, sir.” 

“Then where did you get the money?” 


124 


BEYOND PARADISE 


She was in a quandary. She was slow to answer. At 
length she drawled, “You see, Doctor Blake, it took more 
money ’an I suspected—to buy all them necessary con¬ 
traptions I wan’t figurin’ on.” 

“Necessary contraptions?” 

“Ye-ah,” whimpered Gracie. “You surely know, don’t 
you ?” 

“I’m not sure that I do.” 

“About Ph—Mrs. Jones’ baby?” 

He was positive now that Gracie knew Phyllis as Mrs. 
Jones only because he demanded it. “Oh, certainly,” he 
assured her easily. And coming back to what had 
prompted him to send for her, he asked, “Now then, tell 
me, where did you get the money to obtain the things you 
speak about?” 

She looked to either side as if trying to decide which 
way to jump. “Mrs. Jones was left a legacy,” she offered 
at length. “She’s got mos’ all sorts of money.” 

He knew she was lying to protect her mistress, and he 
admired her for her loyalty. 

******** 

When Willets recovered sufficiently to ramble about 
the grounds of the Blake residence, and to climb into an 
automobile with the aid of another person, Mrs. Folsom, 
under pretense of having much in common with him be¬ 
cause of his political affiliations with her husband, spared 
no effort to make his stay in Waverly pleasant. She 
called for him daily in her electric car. While receiving 
her assistance, he observed the utmost caution, moving 
painfully and with irksome slowness, and commending her 
for her patience with him. 

She drove slowly on these daily journeys, creeping 
along the street at a snail-like pace, as though endeavor¬ 
ing to impress a lesson on him so indelibly that he would 
never again resort to reckless speeding. She invariably 
engaged her companion in affable conversation, oblivious 
to everything else, even failing to recognize her most 
intimate acquaintances as they stood on street crossings 
waiting for her slowly-moving car to pass. 

Marcia watched the two with considerable satisfaction. 
She might have encouraged them had they shown any 


BEYOND PARADISE 


125 


signs of needing it. The opinions that had been expressed 
when the accident occurred were many, some so un¬ 
flattering to Marcia’s reputation that she was uneasy lest 
some of the unpleasant gossip should reach Blake. She 
might have abandoned her campaign tour after the acci¬ 
dent if idle talk had not impelled her to continue it; in that 
way she proposed to defeat the notion that her adherence 
to her political affiliation was altogether contingent on 
whether or not Mr. Willets was able to accompany her 
on speaking tours. Since she had hushed that rumor so 
completely, she was determined to show that Willets was 
not even her guest. So when it was Mrs. Folsom’s turn 
to serve Thursday afternoon tea at the Country Club, 
and she asked Willets to be the honor guest, Marcia per¬ 
suaded Blake to accompany her. They had gone out 
early and were playing golf when Mrs. Folsom and Wil¬ 
lets drove into a parking place near the clubhouse. 

But it is difficult to remove gossip’s sting. Some people 
may be convinced they are wrong and still cling to their 
original opinions. When the players came in from the 
course at five o’clock, Mrs. Strachan, almost a total 
stranger to Marcia, joined the group that was congratu¬ 
lating her on her successful campaign. After listening a 
moment, she said, “You must be delighted with the way 
your guest is improving, Mrs. Blake. I can’t imagine 
how you were able to take care of him when he couldn’t 
walk.” 

Marcia felt as though a heavy weight had suddenly 
fallen and crushed her. First her blood ran hot, then 
cold; then it was as if her body became entirely bloodless. 
Blake had stopped to give instructions to the caretaker 
for repairs on his clubs. She was glad he was not there. 
A feeling of hatred toward everyone took possession of 
her when she saw Willets reclining in a wicker rocker 
on the sun-porch, where he had basked with Mrs. Folsom 
while the games were in progress. She thought of a 
variety of cutting retorts, but finding none of them appro¬ 
priate, she assumed an attitude of nonchalance. “Doctor 
Blake is more interested in his progress than I am.” 

“Is it possible!” 

“He is Doctor Blake’s guest and patient—not mine.” 


126 


BEYOND PARADISE 


"I thought he was yours, unreservedly/’ 

For almost the first time in her life Marcia was at a 
complete loss. Her mind was an obscure maze of thwart¬ 
ed impulses. “If he were my guest I wouldn’t be ashamed 
of it,” she said. 

Mrs. Strachan laughed sarcastically and departed. 

This was the first real bitterness Marcia had experi¬ 
enced in her life since coming to Waverly. A strong 
desire seized her to flee from it all. The beautiful little 
city she had once loved she now detested; she was confi¬ 
dent that none of the Waverly people could qualify as her 
friends. To tolerate them as her husband’s business and 
professional associates was trying enough. The most 
distressing thing about the whole wretched business was 
the fact that it all resulted from her venture into politics 
—something she could have so easily avoided. But from 
now on she would live in a little world of her own—with 
Blake. 

******** 

Folsom had been out of town for several days, look¬ 
ing after matters in connection with his business. That 
evening Blake received a telegram from him stating he had 
been offered several thousand sheep at a price that should 
net them a good profit. 

Blake replied in a single word, “Buy.” 

Later that evening Folsom sent another telegram. It 
read: “Your presence imperative. Will expect you on 
the morning train.” 

He spoke about it to Marcia. 

“I don’t want you to go,” she objected. “You mustn't 

_ ft 

go- 

He did not understand her attitude. It was the first time 
he could remember that she had not been in accord with 
his plans when they involved his business or professional 
interests. 

“It is a business matter of great importance,” he ex¬ 
plained. “I’ve gone this far and in justice to Folsom I 
feel I should go through with it.” 

“Then I’m going too.” 

“It wouldn’t do for both of us to desert Mr. Willets as 


BEYOND PARADISE 


127 


if he were a total stranger,’’ he said, considerably puzzled 
and annoyed. 

Marcia made herself clear. “Don’t you understand? 
That is the reason I want to go with you.” 

“Because of Mr. Willets?” 

“Yes!” 

Blake laughed a bit dubiously. “He is our guest, you 
know.” 

How could any man be so perfectly undisturbed in the 
face of what seemed to Marcia an imminent danger! He 
had no doubt heard the rumors about her and Willets. 
Or was his apparent indifference due to a lack of interest 
in her? She reassured herself that it was his supreme 
confidence in her that was responsible. 

“He is your guest,” she reminded him, “not mine.” It 
had begun to rain, and Marcia rose to close the windows. 

“You are right. I invited him while you were away.” 

At that moment footsteps could be heard on the walk, 
then there was a thumping on the porch and the clatter at 
the knocker. Before Blake could reach the door it opened 
and Mrs. Folsom, followed by Harry Willets, came in. 

“What a perfectly charming slush,” was Mrs. Folsom’s 
meaningless lament. “Why don’t you have a tarpaulined 
pergola over your driveway for rainy weather, Don?” 

The Folsoms had a porte-cochere, and Mrs. Folsom 
always made the most of what she had by constantly re¬ 
ferring to it. 

“That’s a luxury for the rich,” he said with flattering 
implications. “But anything like that isn’t necessary when 
you have a perfectly capable escort like Mr. Willets.” 

“He is a cripple,” she reminded him. “See how he 
limps. I had to help him.” 

“And you say that after the way he hurried you up the 
walk a moment ago.” 

“Oh, circumstances, you know, make a difference.” 

Willets remained silent, engrossed in shaking the water 
from his dripping clothes. He had so gallantly shared his 
umbrella with Mrs. Folsom to protect her hat and frock 
from the rain that he was completely drenched. 

“Why did you hurry so?” Marcia asked. “Why didn’t 
you wait until it stopped raining?” 


128 


BEYOND PARADISE 


“Mr. Willets suddenly decided to leave on the early 
morning train. He wanted to come in to tell you about it 
before you retired,” Mrs. Folsom explained. 

Blake thought quickly. “So you are leaving?” 

“I must get to work,” Willets grumbled a little sullenly. 
“I’ve lazed around too long now.” 

“Are you going east on the six o’clock?” Marcia in¬ 
quired idly. 

“If I can wake up that early.” 

“We expect to go on the same train,” she enlightened 
him. “Donald received a telegram calling him away on 
business.” 

“Had a message from Folsom,” offered Blake, “asking 
me to join him in a deal he has under consideration.” He 
handed the telegram to Mrs. Folsom. “Read what he has 
to say.” 

Mrs. Folsom frowned as she read the telegram; then 
she looked up pettishly. “It’s queer he hasn’t told me 
about it. . . . Guess I’ll go along.” 

Willets remained silent while plans were being made 
for catching the early train. Blake noticed that it had 
annoyed him when Mrs. Folsom announced her intention 
to accompany them. Was it possible that they had had a 
tilt? He wondered. 

The next morning Blake almost missed his train. An 
hour before it left, Worth, his assistant, came to the house 
to see him. He looked haggard and worn. 

“Mrs. Jones’ baby is very sick,” he announced. “I was 
out there all night.” 

“Mrs. Jones’baby? Who is she?” 

“Mrs. Margaret Jones. You know her. She lives in 
your house.” 

“Oh, ye-e-s. Of course I do. What’s the matter with 
the baby?” 

“I’m not sure. You’d better go out and see him. He’ll 
probably die.” 

“Wait a moment. We’ll go out together.” 

Blake hurried to tell Marcia to proceed to the depot 
where he would meet her. Willets was at the breakfast 


BEYOND PARADISE 


129 

table, apparently recovered from the moodiness of the 
night before. 

“Don’t be late,” he warned Blake. “People might think 
Marcia and I are eloping!” 

Blake laughed appreciatively, but Marcia, thinking of 
the incident at the Country Club the previous day, could 
find no humor in it. Following Blake into an adjoining 
room, she began, “If I am to go to the depot alone with 
Mr. Willets I’ll stay home.” 

“Confound it!” he said under his breath. “Why all 
this fuss? Why do you refuse to go with him?” he de¬ 
manded irritably. 

“There’s been talk.” 

“About you and Willets ?” 

“Yes.” 

“I haven’t heard any. Who’s been talking?” 

“A Mrs. Straching—I think that is her name—” 

“Her name is Strachan,” he corrected her. “Her hus¬ 
band is in the van business.” 

“Well, whoever she is, she spoke insinuatingly to me 
about Mr. Willets staying here.” 

“Don’t pay any attention to what she said. Her opinion 
amounts to nothing.” 

She persisted. “There are others who must be con¬ 
sidered.” 

Because he was in a hurry to be off with Worth, he 
did not argue further; he was trying to think of some ar¬ 
rangement that would be agreeable to her. 

“Telephone to Mrs. Folsom and ask her to drive this 
way and take you along.” 

“That’ll be all right,” she assented. 

He hastened to the waiting car. “She may be leaving 
early,” he called back. “You had better telephone at 
once.” 

“I will.” 

The streets in the outlying part of town where Phyllis 
lived had been turned into a morass by the heavy rain 
that had fallen during the night, and the automobile 
skidded perilously from side to side. When they finally 
reached the house Blake jumped out and hurried in before 
Worth had time even to shut off the motor. 


130 


BEYOND PARADISE 


Grade was seated on a couch, holding the baby. 

'‘Doctor Blake, this here chil’ am awful sick,” she 
wailed. “He’s mos’ worried us to death.” 

“Let me see him.” 

She pulled back the blanket that covered the baby. 

“You keep him too warm,” Blake stated. “The fever 
is burning him up.” 

Blake asked Worth to take the temperature while he 
listened to the lungs, for the infant was gasping for 
breath. It was the first time he had seen the child, and 
he was startled by its marked likeness to Lyman Curtis. 
All infantile ailments are baffling, in many instances more 
so to the doctor than the mother. The condition of the 
baby was disconcerting to Blake and he did not blame 
Worth for failing to make a diagnosis. Finally he ex¬ 
amined the throat. “There is the trouble. It’s diph¬ 
theria.” 

Gracie became helpless with fear for herself as well as 
for the baby and Phyllis. “Then he can’t git well, can he, 
Doctor Blake?” 

“He’ll get well, Gracie,” Blake assured her. He turned 
to Worth. “Give the baby twenty thousand units of anti¬ 
toxin in broken doses during the course of the day.” 

“I s’pose we all is gwine to take it?” asked Gracie. 

“No, you won’t. Doctor Worth will give prophylactic 
dosages of antitoxin to you and the mother—” He stop¬ 
ped abruptly. “Where is the mother?” he demanded. 

Gracie pointed to the bedroom. “In there. She’s mos’ 
distractioned.” 

Blake found Phyllis lying on the bed, sobbing aban- 
donly. Girl-like, she had fled from the responsibility that 
seemed too heavy. He sat down on the bed beside her. 
Startled, she lifted her head. When she saw who it was, 
she drew a sigh of relief. “Now I know my baby will 
live,” she said tremulously. “Doctor Blake, you’ll save 
him like you did me?” 

“Yes,” he said, “your baby will live.” He continued to 
look at her, observing for the first time that she was very 
pretty. 


Chapter VII 

Nearly three years had elapsed. The Blakes had lived 
the happy life of two ideally-mated people, for Marcia 
had withdrawn from politics, the only issue that had so 
far threatened to cause dissension between them, and even 
that disaffection had by no means assumed serious pro¬ 
portions. All that now remained to remind them of that 
time was the presence of Pansy in their household and 
a wicked looking scar on Marcia’s arm. 

Far from being demonstrative, the Blakes were fre¬ 
quently accused of coldness because of their apparent in¬ 
difference to each other in public. This very restraint 
reacted in a greater devotion to each other in their intimate 
life together, Marcia in particular devoting herself ex¬ 
clusively to Don’s happiness and well-being. It required 
an intuitive person like old Mrs. Donhagen to sense the 
perfect accord that existed between the Blakes. She 
declared that the doctor and his wife were building their 
love on a foundation substantial enough to endure the 
rigors of time immortal. 

As their life took stabilizing roots, their home, rid of 
its original newness, was assuming the staid appearance 
of assurance and permanency. It was gradually hiding 
itself behind the trees and shrubs Marcia had helped the 
nurseryman plant; the colors of the house and the sur¬ 
rounding landscape were blending together in nature’s 
scheme, as the fur and feathers of game blend with its 
environs. 

Blake, as if acting on the hint dropped by Mrs. Folsom, 
had had a porte-cochere built over the driveway. Marcia 
had enlarged her garden, planting more old-fashioned 
perennials each year. The puny climbing rose she had re¬ 
ceived through the mail as a magazine subscription prize 
was now a lusty growth that peeped over the window-sill 
into the bedroom. 

As Blake saw Pansy becoming more and more a defi- 
131 


1 3 2 


BEYOND PARADISE 


nitely accepted occupant of the room Marcia had declared 
would be a playroom for children, he wondered if the 
time would ever come when they would have those chil¬ 
dren. Marcia seemed perfectly content without them. 
It might have seemed that the possibility never entered 
her mind, had she not spoken about it negatively. Her 
reference was something like this: “It would be terribly 
difficult for me to give birth to a child.” Although Blake 
was curious to know the reason for her horror, some 
curious inhibition kept him from going into details with 
her, and in that way they lived from day to day and from 
week to week unfortunately ignorant of many fundamen¬ 
tals about each other. 

Then something happened that upset the even tenor of 
life for the Blakes. Folsom came to Marcia with an ax 
to grind. He had selected her to defeat the protege of 
an opponent who was threatening to supplant him. In 
his masterful way he demanded that she re-enter politics; 
this time he was not asking for her services as a sup¬ 
porter, but had plans by which her name would appear 
on the ballot. He wanted her to enter the race as delegate 
to the National Convention, explaining that she was en¬ 
titled to reap at least some of the fruits of her efforts. 
She received him rather favorably, the satisfaction of her 
former success still thrilling her. Besides, her confidence 
in her ability to achieve even greater success spurred her 
to accept, only to find this clashing with her promise to 
herself never to enter the work again. 

“Why scorn the thing to which you are naturally 
adapted?” Folsom urged. 

And she replied with practically the same answer she 
had given him when she took up politics before. “My 
duty is here—in my home.” 

The reply satisfied Folsom. He saw no reason for 
discouragement if this was the most serious obstacle he 
was likely to encounter. Because he believed that he had 
previously observed signs of relenting, he had his cam¬ 
paign of persuasion all mapped out this time. 

He entered on a lengthy discourse. He expressed his 
opinion that it was a woman’s duty to apply herself where 
the fullest expression could be found for her talents, and 


BEYOND PARADISE 


133 


not where custom directed. Of course, if a woman pos¬ 
sessed no other gifts than the ability to cook, mend and 
tend babies, it was proper that she should limit her sphere 
of activities to her home; but if she was capable of other 
things it was her duty to let the world benefit thereby. 

“Is it really your desire to confine yourself strictly to 
your home ?” he demanded. 

“If I’d follow my real inclination,” she confided, “I 
would do as you have suggested. But this is an instance 
when I must refuse to let my desires sway me.” 

Folsom felt that at last he had broken the ice. Marcia’s 
reply gave him real encouragement. He was succeeding 
better than he had hoped. 

“No one is any more foot-loose than you are,” he said, 
gaining confidence. “If you had children to look after I 
wouldn’t ask you to do this for me.” 

“Children,” she thought. “No, I haven’t any children 
to hold me.” And it vaguely pleased her that she had 
none. She must be reasonable with Folsom, for he was 
arguing along her own line of thought. She mused fur¬ 
ther, “Donald could get along without me for such a 
short time. Pansy is so reliable; she keeps house as well 
as I do.” 

Folsom was watching her intently when she looked up. 
“You know,” she said, “it’s a hard thing for me to de¬ 
cide.” 

“Would you mind if I spoke to Blake about it?” 

“You may if you want to.” 

Folsom reached for his cane and got up. He felt that 
he had won. Marcia went to the door with him. 

“I’ll see Blake today,” he fired as a parting shot. “In 
the meantime, I’m depending on you.” 

She made no reply. 

It was not without a great deal of discussion and argu¬ 
ment that Blake gave his consent for Marcia’s return to 
politics. But at length he was practically forced into it 
by Folsom’s threatening attitude, in which he displayed 
an inclination to drop Blake from the sheep business un¬ 
less he yielded. A little later he would have annulled what 
he had granted had not Marcia, through more of Folsom’s 


134 


BEYOND PARADISE 


scheming, already vigorously resumed her political affilia¬ 
tions. She was working for herself this time; this had 
been pounded into her so energetically that perhaps 
nothing could have dissuaded her. The feeling that she 
was the one to receive the benefit of her efforts, if any 
was derived, was intensely alluring. 

Because of the thoroughness with which Marcia threw 
herself into any task, she was making hard work of her 
present undertaking. Then, too, Folsom had been crossed 
late in the campaign, leaving him little time in which to 
fight back, though it was to be a hot battle while it lasted. 
These circumstances nearly doubled the strain under which 
Marcia worked. She was kept away from home most of 
the time, but even when she was not touring the district, 
she was usually too busy making plans and outlining 
speeches to show much consideration for Blake. For ten 
days prior to the election, she was away from home con¬ 
tinuously. 

For the sake of diversion from the lonely routine of 
his home life, Blake became a frequenter of the Meadow 
Club, a social organization limited to a few dozen of the 
supposedly elite of the town. Here he spent long hours 
reading the same material he could have read at home, 
playing the same games of cards he could have played 
with his neighbors, listening to stories that had been told 
him over and over weeks before. 

But when the campaign was over and Marcia was 
chosen as a delegate, during the time she was waiting to 
leave to attend the convention, the Blakes resumed normal 
relations. But all the while Blake was dreading what was 
to follow—the day of her departure and the loneliness her 
absence was certain to cause him. He was as dismayed 
at the prospect as she was happily excited over it. 

He was exceedingly interested in the progress Marcia 
had so far made, but beyond this there was an irrepres¬ 
sible feeling that the proper place for her was in her 
home. There was no doubt in his mind that she was 
mentally ‘on the fence’, so to speak—a condition he was 
certain could not last long. She must make up her mind 
to an undivided allegiance, or the decision would automati¬ 
cally be made for her. 


BEYOND PARADISE 


135 


He might have worried over this had there not been 
plenty of other things to keep his mind occupied, even 
when he did not devote himself as exclusively to his pro¬ 
fession as he had heretofore. His medical and surgical 
practice had doubled; his business venture with Folsom 
had been increasingly successful. Although they remained 
very silent regarding the amount of money they were 
making, those who took an interest in their affairs knew 
that it had been remunerative enough to make both inde¬ 
pendently rich. 

Besides this, Blake had had the work and worry en¬ 
tailed by the construction of a six-story store and office 
building to contend with. Waverly had suffered a disas¬ 
trous fire, and he had purchased the site of a destroyed 
structure on the busiest corner, on which he was erecting 
the finest building in town. However, all these concerns 
would have been mere play had his domestic life not been 
harassing him. He was an indefatigable worker, never 
satisfied unless he could see an endless array of tasks 
reaching out before him. And because this desire for oc¬ 
cupation had increased since Marcia’s latest political ven¬ 
ture, he constantly carried a piece of ivory in his pocket, 
filling the moments not occupied with business or his 
profession, with carving. When he was at home, where 
he had the equipment, and this feeling came over him, he 
whiled away the time cutting reliefs on peridot and sar¬ 
donyx. 

During the last few weeks of the interval between 
Marcia’s election as a delegate to the convention and her 
departure, Blake made a splendid effort to renounce both 
his hobbies and his work; he wanted to spend as much 
of his time with her as possible. And those days seemed 
to bring them closer together, if that was possible, than 
all the rest of their married life; at times it seemed as if 
they stood on top of the world, the crowns of their heads 
touching heaven. 

The heat of mid-summer was intense, and Marcia and 
her husband resigned themselves to the languor that the 
season invariably induces. They sought diversions that 
were purely recreative, spending much of their time driv¬ 
ing into the country to pick wild berries and flowers. On 


i 3 6 


BEYOND PARADISE 


such occasions Marcia prepared a basket of lunch to take 
along, and they would remain the entire day, donning 
bathing suits and swimming in the sandy river when they 
tired of exploring its banks and roaming the woods. In 
this way their acquaintance broadened rapidly throughout 
the rural districts, and besides being invited to country 
dances, they received invitations to attend gatherings that 
ranged from baptismal celebrations to the more diverting 
business of sampling home brew. 

Then, quite abruptly, there arose misunderstandings. 
They were driving home from some affair when Marcia 
announced, “Don, I want you along when I attend the 
convention/’ 

So she was still determined to go; he had begun to hope 
that her avoidance of the subject meant that she had tired 
of the prospect and would willingly give it up. Though 
he had not openly demanded that she remain at home, 
he had clearly indicated in other ways that he objected 
to her going. There was yet one way he had not tried— 
violent opposition. 

“Wouldn’t that be fine,” he said sarcastically, “both of 
us going to the convention!” 

“That will be fine,” she echoed, “because you’re going.” 

He thought a long time before he spoke again. It 
was a difficult matter for him to cross her deliberately. 
The automobile jolted over a rough place in the road as 
he turned sharply to avoid a rut. 

“I’ve been dallying around too much now,” he drawled, 
without looking up. “And I thought perhaps you had had 
about enough of it, too!” 

She turned abruptly to face him. Even before she 
replied he realized he had struck the note aimed at. 

“So you consider the time you spend with me wasted ?” 
she demanded. “Is that what you really mean?” 

“No! no!” he denied, his tone casual. “But one is in 
danger of permitting an inequality in the distribution of 
his energy,” he continued, “and I’ve done that. I’ve 
loafed so much that I’m afraid for myself. I detest the 
thought of returning to work, and unless I go back soon 
it’s a question whether I’ll have sufficient self-control ever 
to force myself back.” 


BEYOND PARADISE 137 

Marcia scoffed at the idea. “That’s an excuse—just a 
weak excuse,” she declared. “You don’t want to go!” 

He refused to deny that he did not want to accompany 
her. That worried her, but she was determined to con¬ 
ceal it from it. He had nothing to say, and she found 
his silence very exasperating. 

“Isn’t that the truth?” she urged, when she could no 
longer endure his silence. “Really, now, isn’t it ?” 

“You know me well enough to know that I don’t hide 
behind excuses. If I didn’t want to go for any reason 
whatever I would say so in that many words. The fact 
is, other business, far more important than being an idler 
at a convention, requires my attention.” 

There it was! She stared at him. He had not taken 
his eyes off the road while he was speaking, and he con¬ 
tinued to watch it with distracting concentration, his lips 
tense and his eyes rather hard. 

Marcia began speaking slowly. “If you don’t approve 
of my attending—” 

“Why ask,” he interrupted her brusquely, “when you 
know that’s it! You know that I hate to deny you any¬ 
thing and you’ve taken unfair advantage of that. The 
best information I could get before election was that you 
would be defeated. You surprised me, however, and the 
fact that, you beat a very strong opponent gave me con¬ 
siderable satisfaction. It has made me proud of you. 
That’s what you’ve taken advantage of—my admiration 
for you!” 

“Don, you’re mistaken,” she said huskily. “I just want 
you to go along. To be with me.” 

“By God,” he said, striking the steering gear with his 
fist, “if you must go, leave me out of it! Do you under¬ 
stand ?” 

“I understand,” she said, half under her breath. “I 
might have known.” 

Perhaps because he was expecting it, Blake thought he 
caught a tremor of anger in her voice. He was annoyed 
at himself for having spoken so harshly to her, but when 
he turned to look at her, he saw her calm eyes fixed on 
him in a sweet smile. If she was angry she was not 
showing it. He resumed his apparent pre-occupation in 


138 


BEYOND PARADISE 


the road, thinking possibly his attitude had been justified; 
because she was not vexed he presumed she admitted his 
case. He looked at her sidewise when she was not watch¬ 
ing him, noting that her former serenity had turned to a 
sort of hard petulance. It was unnecessary for him to 
sham exasperation any longer, and the angrier he grew 
the harder his foot pressed down on the accelerator, until 
they were traveling at a dizzy pace. Marcia trembled 
with fear, and although she gave no visible sign, the ter¬ 
rible accident of nearly three years ago came back to her 
with horrid vividness. 

“Anyway,” she thought, “Mr. Willets didn’t do it de¬ 
liberately.” 

Arrived at the house, he stopped with a sudden and 
sullen application of the brakes. Marcia alighted, looked 
at her husband inquiringly, and when he appeared too 
busy shifting the gears to notice her, turned and went 
silently into the house. In driving to the garage Blake 
raced the motor unnecessarily. He was really angry with 
her for the first time in their life together. The knowl¬ 
edge came to her with a strange sense of bereavement and 
loss. It seemed as if she had lost everything she had 
ever possessed. 

Marcia went to her room and removed her hat and 
fur, then sat down on the bed near a window to think 
and to wait for Blake. Although she had been waiting 
only a short time, it already seemed like hours since she 
had come in. She could hear her husband tinkering with 
the car in the garage, pretending to be busy. He wanted 
time to recover from his anger. Alone in the garage, the 
time was passing as slowly for Blake as it was for Marcia. 
He had only the Maltese cat, who lived in the garage, to 
talk to. 

Marcia had lain down on the bed and buried her face in 
a pillow. She was not quite certain whether she was 
thinking or worrying when she heard her husband laugh 
and then say something. For a minute she did not breathe, 
hoping to catch what he was saying if he spoke again, 
curious to know with whom he was conversing. She 
raised herself stealthily from the pillow, drew the window 
draperies to one side, peering out at the dim reflection of 


BEYOND PARADISE 


139 


the headlights. In this position she remained until she 
grew cramped, but there were no further sound of voices. 
The light breeze that came through the open window made 
her cheeks cool, and, in touching them, she was surprised 
to find that they were moist with tears, that she had been 
crying. 

A little later, when she was again reclining on the bed, 
she heard Blake walk past the window and up the kitchen 
steps. He shut the door -with a bang when he came in; 
then, not finding her in her usual place in the living room, 
he went quickly and noiselessly to all parts of the house, 
searching for her. Having satisfied himself as to her 
whereabouts, he returned to the living room. 

After diligent searching he succeeded in finding the 
evening paper. Marcia donned her kimono and passed 
through the room where he was sitting, presumably look¬ 
ing about to see that everything was in order for the 
night. He rustled the paper. When she came back, 
passing him in silence, he sighed heavily. She paused. 

“Would you care to have me fix a lunch for you, Don?” 

“No, thank you. I’m not hungry.” 

She took a step and paused again. “I have some fresh 

apple-sauce cake.Would you like some of 

that ?” 

He looked up. A woman like her must be loved—every 
minute. 

“It’ll be too much trouble for you,” he said, indicating 
he would eat even if he was not hungry. “Don’t bother, 
dear.” 

“It’s no trouble at all. . . . And I have some black¬ 

berries ; you like those with cream. And preserved kum- 
quats, and bread I made this morning.” 

She started for the kitchen. He sauntered after her. 
When she had prepared a lunch of delicious odds and 
ends, with which he had helped her, they sat down to¬ 
gether. They had apparently forgotten there had been a 
misunderstanding. 

******** 

Marcia probably had reason to fear the consequences 
of the first real dissension between herself and Blake. 
The possibility that this was the forerunner of other 


140 


BEYOND PARADISE 


quarrels was what worried her most. And when a few 
days later they disagreed over the amount of money she 
proposed to take while attending the convention, she knew 
that her anxiety had not been unfounded. She had not 
saved enough out of her allowance to defray the expenses 
her trip would involve, and she asked Blake for the re¬ 
maining amount necessary. He turned her apparently 
simple request into a long and complicated problem. 
When he had finished his computations they showed con¬ 
clusively that she could get along with even less money 
than she already had in hand. In telling her about it he 
seemed to infer that she was planning a rather gay and 
extravagant trip. 

“Are you afraid that I’m going to squander a little of 
your money ?” she asked defiantly. 

“Not exactly.” 

“Then, ‘exactly,’ what do you mean?” 

“I mean that you should travel and live as economically 
as proper traveling and living will permit.” 

“Proper?” 

“Yes.” 

“I propose to conduct myself properly!” she snapped. 
“I always do.” 

“Oh, I know that,” he insisted impatiently. “I mean, 
it is foolish to waste money.” 

“I wish you would go along,” she begged, finding her¬ 
self growing quarrelsome. “You’d enjoy it, Don.” 

“Do you expect a man to loaf because his wife thinks 
he should?” he demanded rather sharply. 

Marcia frowned. “No, I don’t!” she said fiercely. 
“But wouldn’t it be advisable for you to be with your 
wife and keep her from spending too much of your meager 
supply of hard-earned money?” 

The amazingness of her retort was a revelation to him. 
He had thought it impossible of her to voice such a 
sentiment. He had expected her to offer to remain home 
instead. 

Feeling a bit guilty, he said, “Well, Marcia, I know 
you’re not the only one who thinks I’m penurious.” 

She, in turn, was startled by his assertion. He had 
always been sensitive to any reference to his tight-fisted- 


BEYOND PARADISE 


141 


ness, and now he was admitting it—accusing himself of 
it. The word penurious had a sinister sound to her. 
Stingy, a synonym that expressed exactly the same mean¬ 
ing, was more agreeable to her ears. She had often con¬ 
sidered her husband stingy, for to her mind everybody 
falls to one of two classes, stingy or liberal, and since 
Blake was not liberal she felt he must be stingy. But the 
term was in such common use that it really signified 
nothing. There was another word that had the same mean¬ 
ing and that she equally detested, but it persisted in 
eluding her. 

“Who said you were penurious ?” she demanded. “Who 
said that?” 

“I never heard anyone say it about me. But I know 
people who think I am.” 

“Why, Don, you’re nothing of the kind,” Marcia 
laughed a protest. “Of course, you’re just the least bit 
stingy, and that is not the worst—” 

He interrupted her. “I knew you were driving at that! 
I knew it! You don’t know how it hurts to think I gave 
you reason to regard me in that sense. But I’m going to 
be different. I’ll never give you further cause to think 
me niggardly.” 

“Niggardly!” she thought. “That is the word I was 
trying to think of—niggardly.” 

His self-condemnation encouraged her to believe that 
she had really been wronged in some vague way. She 
was undecided just how, but there was no question that 
she had been or Blake would not have admitted it. Why 
had she failed until now to notice any of his faults? He 
had so many. 

Marcia grew thoughtful. Various trivial happenings 
recalled themselves to her mind, engrosing her to such an 
extent that she failed to listen when Blake began a brief 
summary of his mistakes and how he proposed to over¬ 
come them. 

“I’ve been confronted by too many obligations to handle 
them all properly,” he said, speaking in a low, even voice. 
“I made my own load too heavy, and it became necessary 

for me to be what I am. That is at an end. 

From now on I’ll devote more time to the things that 


142 


BEYOND PARADISE 


really count. But you must not expect me to accompany 
you to the convention. . . . You know politics and 

politicians do not interest me.” 

She caught only the final sentence. “Then you are not 
interested in me?” 

“Marcia, don’t be absurd! Of course I’m interested 
in you.” 

“I’m a politician.” 

“Oh, well, I don’t regard you in that light.” 

“I want to be.” 

“You are counted in on everything that takes you up 
and not down—” 

“Then you think I’m going downward,” she broke in. 
“Do you really think I’m doing that?” 

“Not exactly.” 

“Please don’t use that word exactly!! It expresses 
nothing in particular. Don’t be vague, Don. You’re 
really too big for that.” 

“Nor do I like the word really you employ so con¬ 
stantly!” he retorted hotly. “I don’t care for it any 
more than you care for exactly ” 

“You’re the funniest man I ever knew!” 

“I know what is troubling you. You’re intent on fault¬ 
finding. It’s the damned politics you’ve gotten into that 
makes you that way. I’ll admit that I have shortcom¬ 
ings like everyone else, but why begin just now to point 
them out?” 

“I want you to know that I know you have faults.” 

“Don’t worry,” he admitted, “I think I’m more con¬ 
scious of mine than you are of yours.” 

“It doesn’t hurt you to be reminded of them,” she 
said, deliberately tormenting him. “I’m just showing 
you how well I’ve known you in the past.” 

He had hoped to provoke her sufficiently to make her 
want to remain away from the convention, but he saw 
the futility of his hope. She had failed to yield to devo¬ 
tion and adulation. Nor was he accomplishing anything 
by the masterful manner he had just assumed. What 
was there left for him to do? He could think of nothing, 
yet he could not rid himself of the ominous feeling which 


BEYOND PARADISE 


143 

he experienced when he considered her determination to 
attend the convention, and in his company. 

“To open an old wound hurts, Marcia,” he said meekly 
after awhile. He took a packet of cigarettes from his 
pocket and lit one. Only once before had she seen him 
smoke a cigarette, and while it amused her now, there was 
something puzzling about it. How did he happen to have 
cigarettes on him ? He had never carried any before that 
she knew of. He looked awkward as he smoked, rolling 
the cigarette with his tongue from side to side between 
his lips. The smoke veiled his face, irritating his eyes 
and making them blink. His actions showed he was wor¬ 
ried, and it was as if his worrying exulted her. He studied 
her with perplexity. “Why do you do it, Marcia?” he 
demanded. 

“Do what?” _ 

“Bring up things that would be far better left alone. 
It’s driving me crazy.” 

The expression of his eyes as he spoke made Marcia 
realize that this kind of thing could not go on long. She 
must either stop tantalizing him or prepare to see her 
home broken up. She was awakened to the realization 
that her obstinacy was being allowed to pique the good 
nature of the one she loved the most. Although it was 
becoming more and more difficult to do, she managed to 
summon her reason and better judgment to the rescue 
of the situation. 

“Don,” she admonished sweetly, “we’re quarreling over 
trivialities—over nothing. We ought to be ashamed of 
ourselves. I am, for I know I’ve been very unreason¬ 
able.” 

“It takes more than one to make a fight,” he admitted 
a trifle sullenly. 

“Unless it were one of those dual-personality monstros¬ 
ities,” she suggested. “But we are neither of us like 
that, are we?” 

They both laughed. 

“I’ve heard that some people fight with themselves,” 
he replied. 

“So have I.” 


144 


BEYOND PARADISE 


And they laughed again. 

******** 

There had been a week of tranquillity following their 
verbal encounter. Blake would not allow anything to 
disturb the equable disposition in which he had schooled 
himself. Marcia had several times deliberately crossed 
him to discover if his mood was absolutely impervious, 
but the experiments failed to enlighten her. His submis¬ 
sive conduct furnished her food for thought. She was 
surprised to find that the obdurate Blake could be so easily 
conquered, for she presumed she had done just that, rather 
to her own discomfiture. Although she had a well-defined 
aversion for his occasional outbursts of fiery temper, his 
positive and assertive way of criticizing the things that 
were not in accord with his ideas, the domination he dis¬ 
played when he was called on to take the lead, she found 
all these preferable to his present monotonously submis¬ 
sive mood. 

For several days she felt herself the dominating person¬ 
ality in their relationship. Everything Blake did seemed 
to lack its former force and vividness. This was pure 
imagination on her part, for there was not a day when 
Blake vacillated, stood still or retrograded; he was con¬ 
tinually advancing. It was only her feeling of resentment 
that gave her this erroneous impression of his conduct. 
Although Marcia was looking selfishly into the future, 
she became acutely conscious of the disaster her own atti¬ 
tude of criticism and dissatisfaction must eventually 
bring; and by dint of clear thinking, as her better judg¬ 
ment functioned, she saw how utterly unreasonable it was 
of her to magnify his innocent little faults. When she at¬ 
tempted to compare him with others she was at a loss— 
there was no comparison, and she knew confidently that 
he was still the only one in whom she was interested. At 
times she wondered if she was not the one who was 
wavering, but she could never fully convince herself of 
this. 

But it was quite evident that the old order of things 
had vanished. In spite of a willingness on the part of 
both Blake and Marcia to make concessions, they found 
that it was impossible to force amiability. When it comes 


BEYOND PARADISE 


145 


from the heart it is natural, like hunger; almost involun¬ 
tary, as far as the will is concerned. This wholesome 
sweetness of disposition was now lacking in their relation¬ 
ship; that was what they had to contend with from now 
on. They lived together on an apparently happy basis, 
though there was an irreparable breach between them, in¬ 
consequential enough in the beginning, but insidiously 
widening, like a vast blow-out in the sand plains that had 
had its inception in a cow-trod. 

It would be folly to assume that neither had had desires 
and vagrant caprices before this that did not belong 
strictly within the bonds of matrimony, but until now they 
had been able to exercise almost complete control over 
them. Try as they would, they could not recall how to 
observe the little amenities that make married life a 
success. Blake was less punctual about coming home after 
office hours, and if not irritable, not at least in his former 
frame of amiability when he did come. Marcia was no 
longer discomfited by his fits of ill-temper; she had learned 
to meet them with matter-of-fact indifference. Their 
greetings, perhaps more regularly expressed than for¬ 
merly, consisted of endearing words that came with a 
cold, mechanical meaninglessness. 

The diversions offered by the Meadow Club became 
more attractive to Blake; he was spending more time 
there now than during Marcia’s absence while she was 
campaigning. Because the club had such a lure for him, 
he and Marcia seldom went out together any more. It 
was a common occurrence to see them driving away from 
the house in the evening in separate cars—Marcia now 
had her own automobile—mutually agreed to fulfill en¬ 
gagements and appointments of an entirely private nature. 
On several occasions they had met at entertainments, one 
as ignorant of the other’s intention of attending as if they 
were total strangers. And once they drove home in the 
same car after one of these chance meetings, forgetting 
that they had not gone together. 

******** 

The daily papers were announcing the vanguard of 
delegates already arriving in the Convention City. Promi¬ 
nent men who were not delegates were also among the 


146 


BEYOND PARADISE 


early arrivals. Marcia was in a state of high excitement. 
She read as much of the accounts to Blake as he would 
listen to, and he was willing to listen to most of it. Be¬ 
cause she had carefully fostered what little concern he had 
originally shown in the convention, his interest in it had 
become almost as keen as her own. 

The Star gave Marcia favorable mention on the eve of 
her departure, laying much stress on what she had to say 
about the probable results. 

Mrs. Folsom had also followed the newspaper reports 
on the convention very closely, but Harry Willets’ name 
was the only one of interest to her in the articles. She 
was mysteriously exultant each time she saw his name in 
print, and this exultation reached its climax when, the 
day before Marcia had planned to leave, Lyman Curtis 
stopped in Waverly on his way to the convention. Mrs. 
Folsom telephoned to Marcia. 

“Did you know that Mr. Curtis is in town ?” she asked. 

“I saw him about an hour ago,” said Marcia. “He told 
me he was on his way to the convention.” 

“So I heard. . . . Have you decided definitely to 

go tomorrow?” 

“Yes. Mr. Curtis is going on the same train. I wish 
you would make up your mind to come along.” 

Mrs. Folsom’s voice betrayed her eagerness. “Do you 
think I should?” 

“Of course, I do.” 

“An old schoolmate of mine lives out there. I would 
like to see her.” 

“That’s reason enough to go,” laughed Marcia. “It’s 
a better excuse than I could think of, if I didn’t have any 
business there.” 

“I suppose Mother could take care of the youngsters,” 
Mrs. Folsom considered. “But she’s taken care of them 
so much I’m afraid people will talk.” 

“That doesn’t sound like you,” teased Marcia. “I be¬ 
lieve you’re going.” 

“I certainly am,” Mrs. Folsom announced her mind as 
suddenly and emphatically made up. 

“Good,” commended Marcia. 

“I’m coming right over to you to prove I mean it.” 


BEYOND PARADISE 


147 


It was not long before her electric car appeared around 
the corner. Marcia did not go out into the street to meet 
her; she had grown too conventional for that sort of 
thing. A man preceded Mrs. Folsom from the car, whom 
Marcia recognized as Lyman Curtis. They came slowly 
toward the house, admiring the placing of the bird-bath, 
sun-dial, shrubs and trees. 

******** 

Blake had transacted a great deal of business during the 
past fortnight. As it happened, this was one of the par¬ 
ticular days when he had had an unusually large number 
of mysterious engagements. Although he professed to 
be very busy, no one seemed to know just what required 
his attention so undividedly. 

Marcia thought regretfully of Pansy as Mrs. Folsom 
and Curtis approached. The girl was away on the only 
vacation she had had since she began working in the 
Blake household, though she was expected back that 
evening. Marcia missed her, especially when she had 
visitors, for guests must not be neglected, and without 
Pansy to help her, their presence was not particularly 
convenient just at this time. She wondered how she had 
managed before she had a maid. Although it was getting 
late and she had not heard from Blake, she had been going 
quietly about the work of packing her trunk, refusing to 
be disturbed by his actions. 

Marcia went to the door to greet her friends, offering 
appropriate excuses for the gingham dress she was wear¬ 
ing. “Pm waiting for Don,” she explained. “So please 
overlook my appearance. He’s still busy at the office.” 

“He is not there,” Curtis announced. “I just came 
from his office. I wanted to talk over a business matter 
with him and I thought I would find him here. I know 
he can be depended on to be in one of the two places 
unless he is unavoidably detained. On my way over I 
ran across Edna.” 

Mrs. Folsom looked at Marcia meaningly. The ex¬ 
pression in her eyes seemed to say, “Things are not qujte 
what they used to be.” 

Marcia wished that they were. “He will be home soon. 
Come in.” 


148 


BEYOND PARADISE 


Curtis made himself at home, inspecting and comment¬ 
ing on everything new his eyes encountered. He was 
especially interested in a bronze bust of Marcia that Blake 
had recently completed. He went to the bookcases and 
carefully examined the steadily growing library, then 
turned to look at Marcia, as if comparing her with what 
the books reflected. He observed that the room held 
several pieces of new furniture, and that there were two 
or three pictures on the walls he had not seen before. But 
all in all he felt one might return a generation hence and 
recognize the place by its original arrangement. 

“Did you say your maid is away?” he asked. 

“Yes, she is away,” Marcia told him. 

He opened the door leading into the maid’s room ever 
so little, and peered in. Something inexplicable had 
forced him to it. This room was also in its original state; 
it was a servant’s room, occupied by a servant. . . . 

not what it had been intended for. It was not a children’s 
playroom. Curtis wondered. 

Then Blake came home. He bustled into the house, 
surprised to see Curtis. They shook hands warmly and 
exchanged greetings. 

“Heard you were in town,” said Blake. “Was looking 
for you.” 

“I came in this afternoon,” answered the other. “Won’t 
be here long. Just going through.” 

“How’s tricks?” 

A doubtful expression crossed Curtis’ face. “We’re 
living in an unsettled time right now,” was his evasive 
reply. 

The answer seemed to puzzle Blake, but he did not 
push Curtis for an explanation. Marcia had gone into the 
kitchen and Blake followed her. 

“I’ve had my supper,” he told her. “You needn’t fix any¬ 
thing for me. The President is going through Williston "at 
ten o’clock tonight; he’ll make a short address. Let’s go 
down.” 

Marcia was amazed; was it possible that his politi¬ 
cal views were in conflict with her own? Or did he want 
to go merely because he wanted to hear the President of 
the United States? It occurred to her that she had never 


BEYOND PARADISE 


149 


heard him express himself with regard to his political 
sympathy. She did not even know to what party he be¬ 
longed, if he belonged to any. She wondered if she knew 
her husband very well. It also occurred to her that she 
was not affiliated with her party because it merited her 
support, but through the influence exerted on her by one 
glib at soliciting. 

“I’ll go,” she agreed, glad for an opportunity to do 
something agreeable to him. “Let’s hurry.” 

They joined Mrs. Folsom and Curtis. 

“We’re going to Williston,” Blake informed them. 

“I suppose to hear the President?” suggested Curtis. 

“Yes.” 

Curtis scoffed. “He’s making a final supreme effort 
to save himself.” 

“He doesn’t have to do that,” disagreed Blake. “He 
did that long ago.” 

Marcia took sides with him. “No other President ever 
had so many delicate situations to deal with. What he 
has accomplished during his regime is highly commend¬ 
able.” 

She excused herself and went to her room to dress. 
Mrs. Folsom followed, but soon came back, saying, “I 
must go home and get ready for the trip.” 

“What trip?” Blake asked. 

“I’m going to the convention.” 

“You are!” 

“Uhum. Marcia and I just decided that I should.” 

“That’s fine.” 

Blake switched on the porch light and accompanied her 
to the car. When he came back Curtis had turned off the 
light and was waiting on the steps for him. 

“How is Phyllis?” he asked anxiously. 

In the dim glow of light that came through the window- 
hangings, Blake’s face betrayed not the least concern or 
interest in her welfare. 

“Oh, she’s all right, I guess,” he offered carelessly. 

“Don’t you know?” 

Blake lowered his tone to a whisper. “The fact is, I 
don’t know. The last time I heard from her was three 
or four months ago. . . . She was all right then.” 


BEYOND PARADISE 


ISO 

Curtis stirred uneasily, disappointed. “I hoped you 
could tell me more. That’s why I stopped off in Wav- 
erly.” 

Marcia was calling Blake and they went into the 
house. 


Chapter VIII 

Mrs. Folsom complained when they left Waverly and 
she was still complaining when they reached the Conven¬ 
tion City. Marcia, too, was irritable. Since she had 
made a definite advance in unconventional conduct, she 
found very little in it attractive to her. 

“These abominable trains/’ moaned Mrs. Folsom, 
“they’re a disgrace to American inventive genius. In 
Europe—” 

“Things will be different with a change of administra¬ 
tion,” Curtis pointed out. “The country has been help¬ 
less for a number of years, you know.” 

Mrs. Folsom retorted testily. “You haven’t suffered 
any! You even obtained your position with the opposition 
in power. I wish some of our congressmen and senators 
would contrive as diligently to do something for the gen¬ 
eral good as they’re working for their own interests!” 

“I agree with you,” Marcia upheld her. “And with 
Lyman, too. We need a change.” 

“It’ll take time,” said Curtis, leaving the way open for 
retraction. “But it will eventually come. Everything 
comes to him who waits.” 

“Sometimes it’s a long wait,” Marcia gave her version. 
“Too long.” 

Mrs. Folsom was not to be placated. “Always procras¬ 
tinating!” she accused. “You’ve done it so long that it’s 
become a habit with you.” 

He merely chuckled. 

“He thinks we’re novices. Well, maybe he’s right.” 
This from Marcia. 

“I know the thoughts of his kind,” continued Mrs. 
Folsom. “Tom is the same way. That’s why I’m here 
under protest.” 

“You poor thing,” sympathized Curtis. 

He had heard so much of this sort of thing that it was 
becoming wearisome. At first she had criticized Folsom 

151 


152 


BEYOND PARADISE 


in such a clever manner that she was interesting, but to 
her companions, as she continued to refer to him with dis¬ 
respectful regularity, her trite bitterness became a bore. 

While Mrs. Folsom continued to lament, Marcia became 
interested in a band that was playing on a balcony inside 
the newly-constructed Union Station. The thing that at¬ 
tracted her most was the unnecessarily great volume of 
music it was producing. She wondered if the men played 
continuously with that same ardor, or if their efforts were 
regulated by the arrival of delegation trains. All in all, 
whichever it was, it was about the convention that this 
hilarity centered. 

“O-o-o-h, that music,” she exclaimed with girlish en¬ 
thusiasm. “That’s great.” 

Mrs. Folsom’s opinion differed. “It drives me mad!” 
she said. “Let us hurry and get away from here.” 

“We’ll have to wait for Lyman.” 

“I suppose it will take him forever and a day doing 
that errand for me.” 

Because Mrs. Folsom had insisted on it, Curtis was on 
his way to arrange to have her baggage sent to the hotel 
where they had made reservations. 

Marcia looked after him. “He’s handy to have along.” 

“He’s a tyrant,” declared Mrs. Folsom. Then, glaring 
at the bandmaster as he instilled new zeal into his musi¬ 
cians, she added, “He irritates me, terribly!” 

“Who ? The band leader ?” 

“Well, he does, too. But I mean Lyman. I gave him 
my trunk checks on the train and he turned them over to 
that greasy looking fellow that came along through the 
Pullman. He didn’t know the man from Adam! Think 
of him giving my property into the hands of a stranger! 
I’ve probably seen the last of my trunks!” 

Marcia refused to believe that her companion was 
worrying as much as she pretended. “You don’t like 
Lyman, do you ?” she inquired curiously. 

“That isn’t all. ... I detest him.” 

“You don’t, either.” 

“Yes, I do. He meddles too much. He forms opinions 
on matters that shouldn’t concern him.” 

“Does he?” 


BEYOND PARADISE 


153 


“He certainly does.” 

“What did he say?” 

“He said Tom was probably right when he objected to 
my coming here.” 

Marcia laughed. “You’ll admit the truth of that your¬ 
self.” 

“Not me! I never concur with an opinion that puts 
me in the wrong.” 

“Well,” considered Marcia, “even if he was right, that 
doesn’t mean it was wrong for you to come.” 

“Well,” retorted Mrs. Folsom, “neither would you be 
here if husbands had their way.” 

“I’ll admit,” said Marcia, reminiscently, “that Don was 
right when he objected.” 

Because she was still cross, Mrs. Folsom suddenly saw 
the situation in a peculiar light, believing that she had 
arrived at the solution of a deep mystery. Finding it 
necessary to have an outlet for her ruffled feelings, she 
proceeded to tantalize Marcia. 

“I hope I’m not intruding,” she said meaningly. “If 
I had known that you and Mr. Curtis had planned—” 

“Edna, why you silly thing!” Marcia cut her short. 

“The truth hurts, doesn’t it, dear ?” her friend continued 
sweetly. “Why didn’t you let me know that I was—a— 
was trespassing? I could have made the trip alone.” 

But Marcia was growing wiser in this game of wits. 
“Then I wish I hadn’t invited you to come along.” 

“Business of my own brought me here, my dear. Your 
invitation had nothing to do with my coming,” Mrs. Fol¬ 
som assured her. 

Marcia thought it was time to disclose the fact that she 
was not entirely stupid in regard to her companion’s 
activities. “I understand that you are here to cover cer¬ 
tain phases of the convention for a newspaper.” 

Mrs. Folsom saw Curtis coming toward them far down 
the large waiting-room, and she asked quickly, “Where 
did you get your information?” 

Marcia laughed. “It’s your turn to puzzle a little.” 

“I don’t have to. I know who told you.” 


154 


BEYOND PARADISE 


“I’m glad you do. It will save me the trouble of an 
explanation.” 

“Did Lyman tell you?” 

“How well you guess!” 

“Lyman Curtis ! Really! So he told you ?” 

Marcia enjoyed Mrs. Folsom’s confusion. Never be¬ 
fore had she known there was so much satisfaction in 
turning the tables, having always been too modest to at¬ 
tempt anything of the sort. The unsophisticated girl, for 
whom Mrs. Folsom had felt sorry, thinking she would be 
swamped at the convention, was suddenly showing a re¬ 
sourcefulness capable of carrying her through. She ad¬ 
mired her. 

“Anyway,” she said, “Lyman is up to big things. No 
wonder I hate him! Mr. Folsom doesn’t even know the 
nature of my business here. That is why he objected to 
my coming. He couldn’t understand—” 

“Why should Edith Dunbar waste her time reporting 
a convention?” Marcia broke in, thinking Mrs. Folsom 
was about to fabricate a story she must eventually retract. 
“I don’t blame him.” 

Mrs. Folsom pretended to be undisturbed by what had 
been said. “Unless you tell me more,” she said calmly, 
“you’ll leave me greatly puzzled.” 

“I’m surprised that Edith Dunbar, the remarkable and 
prolific writer, should profess such dullness.” 

“Did he tell you that, too?” 

“Yes, he told me all about you,” Marcia admitted. 
“Long ago. But I kept it to myself as long as I could 
—until I found it necessary to resort to it to defend 
myself.” 

“Did he tell you also that he is not my cousin?” 

“He didn’t say anything about that.” 

Mrs. Folsom turned her back to conceal her indigna¬ 
tion when she thought Curtis was approaching them. A 
moment later she looked for him over her shoulder, ob¬ 
serving with satisfaction that he had stopped at a news 
and cigar stand nearby to purchase a magazine. He had 
already engaged the girl in charge in earnest conversation. 

“I don’t care how much he told you,” she went on, pre¬ 
suming Curtis was at a safe distance. “You don’t know 


BEYOND PARADISE 


155 


the half of it. But Pm going to tell you some startling 
things myself. Mr. Folsom was destitute when I married 
him. And so was I. When we became acquainted at an 
editors’ ball in the city where I was employed, he was a 
country editor and I a reporter, receiving fifteen dollars 
a week. But we were ambitious and full of optimism. We 
were married and came West. . . . and we made 

good. But we had a great many discouraging experiences 
before we were certain of three meals a day and a bed 
to sleep on. I even told fortunes one Summer when I 
was supposed to be convalescing at a health resort after 
a surgical operation. In that way I made money enough 
to pay the surgeon and the hospital. And I never did 
break the habit of making money. Mr. Folsom thinks 
I’ve discontinued that kind of work—newspaper writing. 
He insisted that I must. That is why I write under a 
pseudonym.” 

Marcia sensed a deeper mystery. “How is it that Ly¬ 
man knows so much about your affairs ?” she asked. “You 
will pardon me for being inquisitive but I’d like to know 
that, too—since you’ve confided this much in me.” 

“I’m glad you asked that. I’ve wanted to tell you 
about it for ever so long. Lyman is the one who made 
it possible to have my first story published. He was at¬ 
tending Harvard at the time and he influenced a Boston 
publisher, a close friend of his, to purchase my story out¬ 
right. You see, I owe a great share of my success to 
him.” 

During the brief silence that followed, the two women 
gazed in the direction of the news stand, where Curtis was 
still talking with the clerk. 

“And then you say you hate him,” said Marcia, won- 
deringly. 

“Oh, well, you know how I hate him. Sometimes I 
think he’s the most wonderful man that ever lived!” 

Marcia indulged in a casual survey of her companion; 
then she turned and looked abstractedly in Curtis’ direc¬ 
tion, wondering what there was about him that was so 
infinitely attractive. The girl behind the counter was ap¬ 
parently absorbed in turning the leaves of a pamphlet, and 
he was bending closely over her. Several customers were 


BEYOND PARADISE 


156 

waiting, but she seemed oblivious to them. How had he 
succeeded in fascinating her so quickly and so completely? 
This was all very mysterious, just as it was when he and 
Marcia had been sweethearts and their relationship on 
the verge of consummating in marriage. She thought she 
cared for him then, now she knew positively that she had 
been mistaken. 

“He’s the most wonderful man that ever lived.” The 
phrase was echoing and re-echoing in her mind. Then 
this thought, was displaced by the other Mrs. Folsom had 
employed: '‘You know how I hate him.” And he was 
not her cousin. They were not even related. Very dis¬ 
concerting! Marcia's thoughts swung back to before her 
marriage. “How unconsciously fortunate I was,” she 
mused. 

Mrs. Folsom was growing impatient. She glanced 
frowningly in the direction of Curtis as he continued to 
show an interest in the news stand girl. 

“He’s coming,” said Marcia. 

“Blame me for everything,” said Curtis, when he ob¬ 
served Mrs. Folsom’s stormy look. “I’m sorry I kept you 
waiting. The girl at the news stand is the daughter of 
the widow at whose home I boarded when I went to 
school,” he continued. “I was glad to see her. She was 
just a little tad then, but she remembered me.” 

“An old acquaintance, to be sure,” said Mrs. Folsom, 
with a nod at Marcia. “How many of those do you 
expect to meet here ?” 

“None, that I know of,” said he, reaching for Mrs. 
Folsom’s handbag. Then he added, “that is, I haven’t 
arranged for anything of that sort.” 

******** 

Everything that transpired in the Convention City had 
a thrill in it for Marcia; she had received her first sur¬ 
prise when she walked through the subterranean portion 
of the depot, which led from the train shed to the waiting 
room above. It was a revelation to see how well archi¬ 
tectural ingenuity had succeeded in planning the handling 
of a steadily flowing multitude of people. When she be¬ 
held the size of the structure, the labyrinth of stairs and 
passages, in itself embodying most of the conveniences 


BEYOND PARADISE 


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of a city, she mentally bewailed the break she had allowed 
to occur in her political career. For was it not politics 
that had opened her eyes ? Then, while they were 
waiting for Curtis, she endeavored to form an estimate of 
the amount of money required to erect the building, for 
she was beginning to credit the potency of money with 
power to achieve anything. 

A little later, when they were awaiting their turn to be 
taken uptown, Marcia was astonished at the number of 
vehicles that rolled up and discharged passengers. Some 
hastened off in even greater haste than they arrived, while 
others took their places with myriads of others lined up 
in a side street, apparently in an endless line of idleness. 

She wondered if these sights amazed her companions as 
much as they did her. When they appeared as common¬ 
place to them as the lawn and sun dial at home were to her, 
the consciousness of her provincialism dulled her enthu¬ 
siasm. She realized how limited her worldly experience 
was, and how far she had to go before she could hope to 
accomplish really great things. 

Although she had traveled extensively with her father 
and mother when she was quite young, it had been in a 
cramped and meagre way. When she tried to recall some 
pleasant things in connection with these journeys, she 
found the thing that had made the most indelible impres¬ 
sion on her mind was her father’s continually inquiring as 
to the “most reasonable priced hotel” at their next stop. 

Since her marriage Marcia had traveled very little with 
Blake. It had apparently never entered his mind to take 
her along when he attended medical conventions, nor had 
she ever presumed to show a desire to accompany him. 
Their honeymoon trip and an annual jaunt to Lake Lash- 
away had been the most important of their travels to¬ 
gether, which she realized had not greatly improved on her 
girlhood experiences. A feeling of distress and discour¬ 
agement surged through her; it made her wish she had 
not come. 

On their way uptown Marcia was seized with a sense 
of horror as each minute brought her nearer to the time 
when she was to appear before the convention, when she 
was to show the kind of clay she was made of. Because 


158 


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of her ignorance regarding the qualifications of a national 
convention delegate she feared that she might be incapable 
of performing the duties she had been entrusted with. 
The uneasiness over this made her breathing labored. She 
hoped her distress was escaping the attention of her com¬ 
panions, though she had observed Curtis watching her 
curiously. But at the hotel she was considerably relieved. 
There she found several men of note she had met during 
her first political experience. These and some from her 
own state, whom she knew well enough to inspire her with 
confidence, made her forget her former fears. 

Curtis, always on the alert to do anything likely to give 
either Marcia or Mrs. Folsom a feeling of comfort and 
security, made them acquainted with all of his cronies 
he encountered about the hotel. Even some of the most 
dignified and important of these indicated they had heard 
about Marcia; but Mrs. Folsom was unknown—so it 
seemed. This encouraged Marcia further, and when she 
found that she was accorded more than ordinary courtesy 
and consideration, she was emboldened to be glad she was 
there. 

On the afternoon of their arrival, Curtis accompanied 
Marcia to the convention hall for her first taste of some¬ 
thing real in the way of politics. The committee for 
seating delegates was so pompously busy that its action 
frightened her. Though she was not adverse to spectacu¬ 
lar displays, she felt that the men on this committee had 
an exaggerated opinion of their importance. It seemed 
as if the very atmosphere was surcharged with trouble 
for her. But when her credentials were examined and 
she was seated without a protest, she was once more glad 
that she had come. 

A tour of the city followed, Curtis again accompanying 
her. It seemed as if all regular business had been suspend¬ 
ed to bid welcome and give undivided attention to the com¬ 
fort of the throng of delegates. The city was celebrating, 
having triumphed over an ancient rival in securing the 
convention and gaining the consequent coveted publicity. 
The streets were filled with a moving sea of humanity. 
The happy melee reminded Marcia of carnival crowds in 
Williston when she was a girl. She always had a com- 


BEYOND PARADISE 


159 


parison for everything she saw, but this vast multitude 
differed with her ready analogy in that it was almost 
entirely made up of distinguished looking people. 

Finally they engaged a motor making a specialty of 
boulevard drives. The driver knew his business and it 
was not long before they emerged from the congested 
section and they were racing along the “avenue beau¬ 
tiful” of the city. Marcia felt comfortable in the 
luxurious, finely appointed conveyance, its engine working 
with the smoothness and quietness of a long, soft sigh. 
Their speeding was not hindered by surface cars and 
other slow-moving vehicles, because it was here that speed 
and grace reigned, and a dilatory pace would have been 
out of place. 

The broad boulevard was divided by a park of trees 
and shrubs and flowers making it an ideal place for people 
with the time and means to indulge in idleness. Though 
never without the whirling sound of motor cars, the boule¬ 
vard rapidly filled to its capacity an hour before dusk, 
when the speed became less terrific and the commoner 
was permitted to observe fashion in all its glory. 

When Marcia and Curtis had turned into it it was yet 
several hours before the aristocracy would take posses¬ 
sion, but there was so much else for her to marvel at she 
was kept almost too busy. She watched the enclosed cars 
as they darted past. Their occupants all seemed to Marcia 
very distinguished men and women, possibly because they 
were so apparently oblivious to their surroundings. She 
wondered if she looked the same to them, or if they 
noticed her at all. Perhaps they were delegates from a 
neighboring district back home, and it was the changed 
environment that gave them the air that so amazed her. 
Then she had it: they gave her this impression merely 
because they were strangers to her. She remembered 
having met people at home who awed her until she be¬ 
came acquainted with them, when she found them ordinary 
enough. 

Marcia looked at Curtis when he yawned widely and 
stretched. “You seem to be making hard work of this 
trip,” she accused. “If I’d known you were as tired as 
that I wouldn’t have asked you to come along.” 


i6o 


BEYOND PARADISE 


“That ride on the train was tiresome,” he replied, 
straightening himself. Then he added admiringly, “You’ve 
got more energy than any other person I know. If I had 
it I’d be encouraged to tackle almost anything.” 

“Flatterer!” 

“No, honest.” 

And he yawned again. 

“Please wake up.” 

“I can’t understand what’s the matter with me!” he 
sputtered, shaking himself. “I’m kind of groggy.” 

“Throw away the chloroform,” she suggested. 

“I guess I’m subconsciously resting up for the big work 
tomorrow.” 

“Well,” advised Marcia, “think of me.” 

“We’re here on two very different missions,” he re¬ 
minded her. “My bread and butter depends on the out¬ 
come here, while you have nothing at stake regardless of 
how the convention goes.” 

It became yet a little clearer to her why so many people 
had succeeded in impressing her favorably. They were 
masquerading, and their air of importance was merely a 
sham. If anyone as shallow as’ Lyman Curtis could feel 
as important as he did, she should have seen more of it 
than she had. 

“Some people exist on trifles and think they’re accom¬ 
plishing something,” she said, annoyed. 

He considered. “This is work for me in the same way 
that sheep feeding is to Doctor Blake.” 

Marcia stared at him. “That’s not Don’s business,” 
she contradicted. “It’s just a hobby of his!” 

“He’s making money out of it!” 

“I believe he is. In fact, I know he is. I’d want him 
to stop if he weren’t. Even hobbies should be handled in 
such a way as to make them profitable.” 

Marcia was defending Blake in all earnestness. It was 
what Curtis wanted; not that he was especially pleased to 
know that she and her husband were in perfect accord, for 
he had secretly hoped they were not; but since they were, 
he wanted to know it. He had been almost certain some 
little dissension had come between them. Since Marcia’s 
marriage he was devoting a great deal of time to studying 


BEYOND PARADISE 


161 


the family affairs of his married friends. The Blakes in 
particular were under his surveillance, and Marcia’s de¬ 
fense of Blake had cleared up what had been problematical 
in his mind. It was, as it were, acting as a guide to his 
ever-covetous designs on Marcia. He was the sort of a 
bad loser whose wounds refuse to heal even with the aid 
of time, and Marcia’s indication that she was not lament¬ 
ing over her mistake, if she had made one, made him turn 
away resolutely, content to let time continue to fight his 
battle. 

“O-o-o-o-f,” he groaned, when the car swerved and 
came to a sudden stop as the driver clamped on the brakes 
in obedience to the signal of an obdurate traffic officer. He 
put his hand to the side of his head where he had bumped 
it, saying, “If I’d been killed I’d be sorry for what I 
said to you.” 

Marcia laughed. “Then I wish you’d been killed.” 

“I mean it,” he said seriously. “I am sorry.” 

She looked at him. Her lips parted as if she were about 
to speak again, when the car lunged forward and came 
to an abrupt stop in front of their hotel. 

* * * * * * 

Immediately after luncheon the following day, Marcia 
and Curtis proceeded to the Coliseum where the pre¬ 
liminaries of the convention were in progress. Mrs. 
Folsom failed to accompany them, a severe headache being 
her excuse for remaining in her room. Marcia believed 
her in the same way that she had believed her on various 
other occasions, for she always had plans of her own when 
she expressed a desire to be left alone. Marcia wondered 
what Mrs. Folsom’s program was for the afternoon. 

But when they arrived at the Coliseum she forgot about 
her companion, herself, Waverly, Blake, everything, in 
fact—the emotional weight of the great gathering swept 
her off her feet. Here, at last, she was among a multitude 
of people who had the destiny of the country in their 
hands. 

They were no longer stiff-backed and stupidly formal. 
The contrast between their attitudes of today and yester¬ 
day was almost unbelievable. 

Then she received her first shock, and came back to 


BEYOND PARADISE 


162 

earth. Although she had met many people of minor im¬ 
portance, she had yet to become acquainted with any of 
those who possessed real influence in the convention. One 
of the first of these she was introduced to was Senator 
Soulsberry from Vermont. He was a distinguished look¬ 
ing gentleman with white hair and a silken-smooth face, 
on which was a scattering of indistinct rust-like blotches 
that contrasted beautifully with the delicate skin. He was 
supposed to be wearing pince-nez, but he carried them, 
for the most part, on the end of his left thumb, and on the 
very point of his long, slender nose when it was necessary 
to use them to facilitate his vision. 

Marcia’s heart beat violently when the venerable man, 
who was already being mentioned as a possible dark 
horse, pressed her hand with significant firmness. He was 
from Vermont—from that wonderful state that had within 
its borders the Green Mountains, those wondrous hills 
where her mother had been born and of which she had 
spoken so often. Soulsberry was still holding her hand 
while her memory raced back to her school days, when 
she had studied geography and formed vivid mental pic¬ 
tures of those mountains and the marvelous, moss-hung 
trees with which they were cloaked. Even though she was 
only a child, she had hopes of some day climbing the 
mountains her mother had climbed, and of romping 
through the valleys where she had played. And here she 
was face to face with someone who had lived there all his 
life—like her mother, a native of Vermont. 

“Was I right when I understood that you are from 
Waverly?” asked Soulsberry; then, adjusting his pince- 
nez ridiculously near the end of his nose, he repeated, 
“Waverly? Waverly? Let me see. What is it I’m 
associating that name with. Oh, yes! I have it. Scott’s 
novels. I’m a real admirer of Sir Walter. Waverly is 
a splendid name for a town. Tell me, what state is it in? 
I suppose it is really an unimportant little village like we 
have up in the mountains, but some very good people are 
liable to come from places like that.” 

Marcia’s heart seemed to drop to the most remote part 
of her chest, and with its descent, exploded her bubble of 
admiration for the man from the state she had loved so 


BEYOND PARADISE 


163 


deeply and inexplicably since childhood. She hesitated 
before she answered him, for her mind refused to con¬ 
struct a sentence. The shock of this man telling the 
haughty Marcia how unimportant she was, though she had 
been uncomfortably aware of it for some time, was almost 
beyond endurance. He had probably done it uncon¬ 
sciously, but he had done it effectively. The name Wav- 
erly must in the future become a shibboleth for those who 
aspired to a political career. 

“Why, Waverly is—” 

She paused helplessly, still unable to convince even her¬ 
self that important people might come from obscure lo¬ 
calities. She welcomed an impolite interruption on the 
part of Soulsberry’s secretary, who rudely brushed her 
aside and thrust several telegrams into the extended hand 
of his employer. The man from Vermont excused him¬ 
self and read the telegrams. Then he excused himself 
again and started away, saying, “I will see you again, Mrs. 
Blake. There is one thing in particular I want to speak 
to you about.” 

Marcia’s gaze followed him. 

******** 

When Marcia reached her hotel that evening she 
thought over the proceedings of the day with the utmost 
satisfaction, though she had sustained several disappoint¬ 
ments. She permitted herself to believe that she had 
taken a long step toward securing for Waverly what she 
had promised it. 

Before going to her room, where she expected to find 
Mrs. Folsom, she stopped on the mezzanine floor to write 
a letter to Blake. It was here that she saw Mrs. Folsom, 
seated in such a way as to hide her face from the direct 
view of anyone passing that way, while all that was visible 
of a man by her side was a generous tuft of grey and 
reddish hair protruding above the back of the chair in 
which he was seated. Mrs. Folsom was apparently too 
deeply engrossed in conversation with the man to notice 
Marcia. There was a constant drone of conversation from 
their direction. Marcia became curious, and did a little 
eavesdropping by seating herself at a writing desk near 


164 


BEYOND PARADISE 


them. Mrs. Folsom was doing most of the talking, the 
man seldom finding occasion to answer her. 

When Marcia found she could catch nothing that was 
being said, she began to write, all the while feeling a 
sensation of recognition for someone other than Mrs. 
Folsom. It must be the man. She continued to write, 
barely able to collect her thoughts enough to do so. The 
side of her face from which the disturbing sensation came, 
flushed and her ear burned. Her hand trembled and her 
nervous fingers perspired, making the penholder glisten 
with moisture. As she got up to leave, her sidewise glance 
caught Mrs. Folsom’s. 

“Oh, Marcia,” she called, rising, “look who is here!” 

The tuft of reddish hair sank out of sight and then 
came up over the back of the chair as if by rebound. 
Harry Willets had undoubled his six-foot frame and came 
toward Marcia. 

“I declare,” he greeted her, employing his favorite ex¬ 
pression, “it’s mighty good to see you here.” 

Marcia said simply, “You seem surprised.” 

“Yes, a little,” he said uncertainly. “I thought you 
were out of politics.” 

“Didn’t you know I was here?” 

“Well, yes. Mrs. Folsom told me you were. I want 
to congratulate you on your achievement.” 

“It’s hardly worthy of that. It was so easily accom¬ 
plished,” Marcia assured him. “Too easy, I think, to 
make me appreciate it the way I should.” 

“I wish I could feel that way,” he prevaricated, for he 
thought nobody worked with less effort than he did. “It 
must be a great pleasure to accomplish your work with 
the ease that you do.” 

“Don’t call it work,” she remonstrated. “Please don’t! 
I rebuked Mr. Curtis this morning when he referred to it 
in that way. And your own feat of becoming national 
chairman!” 

“Is Lyman in the hotel?” asked Willets, ignoring her 
reference to his achievement. 

“He went to his room to dress for dinner.” 

“I’ve been waiting for a chance to see him.” He picked 
up his cane, an acquisition since the automobile accident, 


BEYOND PARADISE 


165 

bracing himself on it. “Three years don’t bring care-lines 
to a skin like yours, Marcia,” he flattered. “You haven’t 
changed a single iota.” 

She considered a moment. “It is three years since the 
last time we met.” Then she thought he was either mis¬ 
taken or was just flattering. “Some people are poor ob¬ 
servers,” she added. “I’ve gained ten pounds.” 

“Well, I did notice that, too,” he retorted. “I was about 
to remark that the few extra pounds you’ve picked up 
have rounded you out nicely.” 

Marcia frowned as she perceived an appraising gleam 
in his eye. It was evident he had changed if she had not. 
There was no noticeable physical change in him except 
that his hair was slightly more gray, but she had never 
known him to be carelessly familiar before. She wanted 
to hurry away before saying something she might regret. 
She looked at the clock on the wall across the court. 

“We had better go and dress for dinner, Edna,” she 
suggested. “You always need plenty of time, you know.” 

“I don’t feel well enough to devote much time to that 
tonight,” Mrs. Folsom protested. “I’ll go the way I am.” 

Then Marcia observed that her friend was already at¬ 
tired for dinner, and that she obviously had not intended 
waiting for her. 

“I expected to find you in our room—still feeling in¬ 
disposed,” Marcia suggested. 

Mrs. Folsom seemed confused. “Oh, I began feeling 
better soon after you left.” 

“Edna has promised to have dinner with me,” Willets 
interposed, “and I’m inviting you and Lyman to come 
with us.” 

“Yes, do,” urged Mrs. Folsom. 

Marcia had turned to leave them. She stopped, about 
to accept, but she had instantly weighed the situation and 
hesitated. 

“If you’re otherwise engaged,” said Willets, “don’t let 
me interfere.” 

“I’m not,” replied Marcia. 

“Then come along.” 

“It’ll be a little while before I can get ready. Will you 
wait for me?” 


166 


BEYOND PARADISE 


“Surely.” 

“We’re in no hurry,” Mrs. Folsom informed her. 

“I have a little business transaction with Lyman, any¬ 
way,” said Willets, which was his way of compelling Mrs. 
Folsom to accompany Marcia to their room, for he had 
decided that this was necessary to avoid friction between 
them. “I’m going down to the lobby to wait for him.” 

The two women proceeded toward the elevator. 
******** 

In their room while Marcia was dressing, Mrs. Folsom 
talked volubly of her visit with Willets. Marcia listened 
intently and quietly. For some reason she was very de¬ 
liberate about everything she did. Then, suddenly, she 
knew that Harry Willets was not a mere memory to her. 
Retrospection had revived her intense interest in him, 
even more profoundly than anything she had been con¬ 
scious of during their association in campaign work. Con¬ 
tinuing to dress slowly, she fought desperately the dis¬ 
quieting thought that he had the slightest influence over 
her, endeavoring to calm herself by assuming it was the 
accident and the consequent mutual suffering they had en¬ 
dured that provoked these disquieting tender recollections. 

Deliberately comparing the present Harry Willets with 
the one she had known three years ago, she felt that she 
was capable today of discerning his true self—a carefree 
bachelor who was shirking the responsibility for which he 
was intended. But instantly she wondered if he was as 
bad as that. She had difficulty arriving at a definite de¬ 
cision, vaguely excusing him on the assumption that he 
was moving warily and would fulfill his obligations when 
he found the person he wanted. A fearful feeling came 
over her that convinced her of an uncertainty in her own 
mind—one that was liable to deceive her. So, to prove to 
her own satisfaction that there was nothing equivocal 
about her determination of not approving him, she re¬ 
sorted to the world old custom of declaring herself. 

“Haven’t you observed a change in Mr. Willets?” she 
asked, as a way of getting at her purpose. “I don’t know 
what it is, but somehow he seems different.” 

“Dear me, I don’t think he has changed. If he has, 
I’ve failed to notice it,” Mrs. Folsom replied. 


BEYOND PARADISE 


167 


“I have,” Marcia stated emphatically. "It seems to me 
he’s grown unpardonably careless in many ways. And 
you know I didn’t think that the last time I saw him.” 

Mrs. Folsom did not know how to take this. “What 
reason have you to say that ?” 

“You heard what he said to me.” 

“Yes, I remember. At the time I let it pass as just 
another of the clever things he’s always saying; but I can 
understand the way you took it. I don’t blame you for 
being resentful.” She seemed suddenly to come to life. 
“Come to think of it, there is something peculiar about 
him,” she continued. “I wish that I used my eyes as well 
as you do yours. You involuntarily see things; you didn’t 
have to study him closely to tell that his mouth' and eyes 
betrayed something. I can see it now, after you point it 
out. I believe you’re right, Marcia; he has changed— 
and not for the better.” 

Marcia paused abruptly, lip stick poised in mid-air; then 
she laid the stick on the table and turned about defiantly. 
What Mrs. Folsom had said was unquestionably so, but 
Marcia’s instinct swayed her reason to defend the man. 
“You are too sweeping in your opinion—I hate opinions 
of that kind.” 

And Mrs. Folsom thereby gained some much desired 
information. 

“Oh, well,” she shrugged indifferently, as if tired of 
the subject. 

Marcia was in a quandary. She found herself sud¬ 
denly idolizing this man, and still she wanted to detest 
him. Mrs. Folsom’s attitude made her miserable. She 
flung back her head and busied herself with cosmetics, her 
mental anguish nearly dazing her; the final touches of her 
toilet were accomplished almost mechanically. The harder 
she had tried to put Willets out of her mind the more 
persistently he remained; the thing tormented her, and 
when she eventually turned to her companion and said 
she was ready to go down, her face was clouded and her 
eyes blazing. 

“Come,” she urged, “I’ve kept you waiting long 
enough.” 


168 


BEYOND PARADISE 


Mrs. Folsom got up and followed her, humming a tune 
that came to her mind whenever she was amused. 
******** 

Willets and Curtis were seated near the elevator when 
they got down. 

“Have you thought of a place where you would care to 
dine?” asked Willets, speaking to no one in particular. 

Marcia looked at Mrs. Folsom, as much as to say, 
“What suits you will suit me.” 

Willets was either hungry or nervous. “Where shall 
we go?” he demanded, fidgeting. 

“Any place,” said Mrs. Folsom. “We’re strangers 
here, you know. Nobody will know us even if we do act 
wild and out of place.” 

Curtis forced a laugh. 

“Yes, we’re strangers,” Willets agreed. “I’m glad of 
it. On a stifling night like this I’d suggest the roof- 
garden at the St. Regis” 

Curtis was never in perfect accord with anything or 
anybody. 

“I detest the St. Regis Garden,” he complained. 

“Well, let’s go up above—here.” 

“With this crowd the service isn’t what it should be,” 
Curtis objected again. “Let’s try the Menhadden” 

“Oh, yes! I want to go there. I’ve been hearing about 
that place for years,” Mrs. Folsom concurred enthusiasti¬ 
cally. 

Willets settled the question. “All right, we’ll go there.” 

They walked to the street and Willets helped Marcia 
and then Mrs. Folsom into a taxi. Curtis gave the chauf¬ 
feur directions, and they were whisked away into the 
thickening dusk. Marcia had remained unusually silent 
since joining the men, but when Curtis looked at her 
questioningly, her lips curved into a dazzling smile. Curtis 
returned the smile, saying, “If you look like that to¬ 
morrow you’ll turn the convention into a riot.” 

She managed a cool laugh. Then she wondered if he 
had said it because he really admired her. 

“You mean they’ll be afraid of me?” she fenced. 

“You know what I mean.” 

She laughed again, this time more genuinely. “You’ve 


BEYOND PARADISE 169 

not changed in the least,” she protested. “Not a bit. 
You’re the same old flatterer.” 

When they arrived at the Menkadden, not more than 
two blocks from their hotel, Willets helped Marcia from 
the car. Mrs. Folsom followed, clinging possessively to 
Willets’ arm and walking up the several steps with him. 
Curtis, regarding the place critically, was not inclined to 
follow them too closely. 

“Come on,” urged Marcia. “We’ve had criticism 
enough from you.” 

“I don’t know about this place, either,” he demurred. 
And he looked sharply to either side, as if the unexpected 
was about to happen. 

But they went on up and in, Marcia finding almost too 
much food for thought in the amazingness of the environ¬ 
ment in which she now found herself. Perhaps it was her 
puritanical blood that revolted so violently when she saw 
old Judge Wray, of Williston, an intimate friend of the 
family, seated at a table with a woman of questionable 
appearance. Although she almost brushed his elbow in 
passing, he failed to notice her—intentionally. Men and 
women were slinking toward private booths without look¬ 
ing to either side, the gaiety derived obviously counter¬ 
balanced by the misery they would inevitably bring upon 
themselves later. Marcia’s back was almost against the 
telephone booth, and she could momentarily hear the 
waiter informing someone “the coast is clear for number 
eleven,” or for whatever other number the coast had been 
cleared. 

She was suddenly conscious of eyes bent intently on 
her. She turned her head—casually. A man continued 
to stare at her after she had singled him out. Instantly 
he had interpreted her gaze as an indication that she would 
receive him if he was bold enough to make the advance, 
and, continuing to stare, he smiled and bent his head in 
a slow nod. She smiled, just a little, turned and became 
interested in what Curtis was saying about the convention. 
Then, more intensely than before, she felt the strange, 
magnetic pull of those burning eyes. Being so far away 
from home, amid strange and exciting surroundings, such 
an incident is likely to breed indiscretion; and still some- 


170 


BEYOND PARADISE 


what provoked because of the influence Willets had over 
her, she could think of no reason for resenting the strange 
man's actions. She rather enjoyed the sensation of being 
the object of such attention, and invited more by casting 
another look in his direction. These two brief glances 
were sufficient to convince her that his personality was 
pleasing enough to make her anxious to gain his acquaint¬ 
ance. 

Then she came to her senses, wondering if this ap¬ 
parently well-regulated place was in reality a rendezvous 
for just such people as he. A few years ago an experi¬ 
ence of this kind would have filled her with utter disgust, 
but she had rapidly developed an understanding of the 
ways of the world. Moreover, she was genuinely anxious 
to know who the strange man was. She was almost cer¬ 
tain she had seen him at the convention that afternoon. 
Probably he was a man high up in politics; if so, his posi¬ 
tion justified her inclination to become acquainted with 
him—a desirable addition to the trophies she was collect¬ 
ing. 

The man settled with his waiter and rather hesitantly 
directed his footsteps toward their table; he paused for 
the briefest instant at Curtis’ chair, his lips parting as if 
about to speak, only to move on when the latter ignored 
him. 

“Who is that man?” Marcia tried to speak casually. 

Curtis looked intentionally in the wrong direction. 
“Which one?” 

Marcia nodded. “That one over there. He stopped an 
instant by your chair as he passed, you know.” 

Curtis’ gaze followed the man. “You don’t want to 
know who he is.” 

“I do, too!” Marcia pouted. 

“You’ll be sorry if you do!” 

“Why?” 

“He’s a notorious character around Washington.” 

“Then you know him?” 

“That is why I didn’t care to recognize him. I know 
him too well.” 

“And you think it is wrong for me to know the people 
that you know?” 


BEYOND PARADISE 


171 

“Good heavens! Can’t you understand what I’m try¬ 
ing to make clear to you?” 

“I understand perfectly,” returned Marcia. “It seems 
to me you’ve suddenly become sort of chaperonish. I 
merely asked you to tell me who he is.” 

“And I merely won’t tell you!” 

“Just because you are obstinate,” she laughed. “But 
you’re not hurting me by refusing.” 

“I saw him smiling at you,” he accused, “and you smiled 
back at him. I know you wouldn’t have done it if you’d 
known who he was.” 

“Oh,” she exclaimed in surprise. “Then you were 
watching us ?” 

Curtis looked wise. “Very little escapes me,” he 
boasted. “So be careful, innocent one!” 

“I refuse to be innocent any longer,” she informed him 
airily. “I’ve thrown away my fool’s cap.” 

“Talking seriously, Marcia,” Curtis insisted, “you’re 
too fine to begin taking life lightly.” 

She felt guilty and tried to clear herself. “When he 
smiled I thought he knew who I—” 

“That’s his game,” broke in Curtis. “He is bold 
enough to take a chance on not being rebuffed; and he is 
low enough to feel he has risked nothing when he doesn’t 
get away with it.” 

At first Mrs. Folsom and Willets had found amusement 
in listening to the dialogue, but they began to feel awk¬ 
ward when it threatened to develop into a serious dis¬ 
cussion. Two men stopped at their table to speak to 
Willets. One of them recognized Marcia, and because 
she had no recollection of having met the man, she re¬ 
garded this as an indication that she was making a favor¬ 
able impression. 

“You are from Waverly,” suggested the man, indicating 
he remembered something in connection with her. “Are 
you not?” 

Marcia assented pleasantly. 

“One of the farmer delegates from—from what state? 
I should remember that, too.” 

Marcia felt her exhilaration ebbing. Willets was aware 
of her discomfiture and relieved her by saying, “She comes 
from the best state of all . . . my own.” 


172 


BEYOND PARADISE 


This pleased her, prohibiting any further reference to 
the unimportance of herself and Waverly. The waiter 
brought their dinner and all during the meal, while people 
were wending their way to and fro past them, the national 
chairman was the center of attraction. Apparently 
everybody was in some way connected with the conven¬ 
tion. 

******** 

At the convention Marcia worked hard for recognition. 
Primarily through her own efforts, she succeeded in being 
placed on a minor committee. However, Willets did every¬ 
thing he could for her when he realized what she was 
working for, although she was not aware of it; the work¬ 
ings of politics were still too intricate for her to have even 
the remotest knowledge of how political positions were 
distributed. But she could feel the boost she had re¬ 
ceived from some powerful source, and she vaguely pre¬ 
sumed it had come through Willets, and was properly 
grateful and admiring of his skill and prestige. 

As a committee member Marcia was a success. After a 
short but hot conflict she was made chairman of the com¬ 
mittee on which she served, believing all the while that 
she had accomplished this without assistance. She was 
too much of a novice in political affairs to understand that 
she had received help from Willets until he casually spoke 
to her about it, disconcerting her, for now she could not 
point to a single thing as her own accomplishment. Never¬ 
theless, she felt confident some progress was being made 
—at least, the task of beginning had been overcome. 

She was the first woman delegate, through prearrange¬ 
ment with Willets, to be given the floor to make some 
announcement in the interest of the committee she had 
in charge. When she arose the big hall resounded with 
applause of recognition; and as she stood there, smiling, 
nervous, and yet strangely assured, a glow seemed to en¬ 
velop the rostrum on which Willets was seated. To her 
he had become superhuman, almost sublime. He had in¬ 
spired her with confidence in his power by feeding her on 
the belief that he had practically accomplished the im¬ 
possible for her, when, in fact, he had done nothing more 
than to take care of his own interests. 


Chapter IX 

In the meantime Blake was unable, try as he would, to 
keep his mind from dwelling constantly on Marcia. 
Whether at the operating table in the hospital, examining 
a patient in his office, or out on business connected with 
his sheep-raising venture, he was constantly thinking of 
her. The weight of his grief over her absence was making 
his work a grilling grind, performed without the dexterity 
and completeness that had characterized it heretofore. 
However fully his mind was occupied, he had visions of 
Marcia standing before the convention, heedless and 
happy, receiving the plaudits of that great group of people. 
Marcia making acquaintances that were never to be for¬ 
gotten, with people who did not stop to consider that they 
were enhancing their own pleasure at his expense. Marcia 
having experiences in which there was no part for him. 
At thoughts such as these he experienced violent twinges 
of an emotion he diagnosed as jealousy, and although he 
was provoked at his own lack of control over his feelings, 
he was glad to know that he still loved his wife above 
everything. He had been contemplating with horror the 
possibility that their love might be on the wane, for only 
recently many trivial matters between them had termi¬ 
nated in gross misunderstandings. 

The first two weeks Marcia was away—Marcia and 
Mrs. Folsom proceeded with the real business of the trip 
at the conclusion of the convention, raiding several cities 
known as centers of fashion, touring several states, and 
finally spending a gay fortnight at a famous summer re¬ 
sort—Blake spent his evenings at home. The Meadow 
Club had no longer any attraction for him; he wanted to 
be alone, the way he believed Marcia had intended he 
should be. 

The shy Pansy, by this time as much a part of the 
household as the lights in the ceiling and the rugs on the 
floor, was the only one to dispel the feeling of complete 

173 


174 


BEYOND PARADISE 


emptiness in the house, for she was never known to go 
out after dark, and only on the rarest occasions during 
the day. Blake derived considerable comfort from the 
knowledge that someone was at least near. 

Those first two weeks were dreadful, causing Blake to 
devote himself more unreservedly than ever before to his 
surgical practice, and to the steadily increasing business 
he and Folsom had built up. His hands were particularly 
full with the latter since Folsom had been stricken with 
an affliction Blake diagnosed as cirrhosis of the liver. 
Blake watched the big man pityingly as he realized that 
his case was hopeless; his once florid face and corpulent 
body became daily more sallow and bloodless and wasted. 
It was evident that the end was not far off. So Blake 
worked the harder to save the ebbing strength of his 
partner, who refused to follow his instructions to take a 
rest, as well as keep his own restless and troubled mind 
occupied. 

The realization that he had allowed himself to become 
jealous of‘his wife made Blake more dejected and mo¬ 
rose than ever. He showed it by an increased severity with 
his patients, a gruff gloominess in the presence of friends, 
and a lack of consideration for his colleagues, incensing 
him further and increasing his melancholy, ultimately 
driving him to the point of desperation. His keen medical 
insight warned him that a continuance of his present 
course could only have a disastrous conclusion; but how 
could he remedy it ? He had never imagined that a person 
could become so helpless in the grip of his emotions. And 
in his desperation he censured himself for refusing to 
accompany Marcia and give her the companionship that 
marriage purports. 

A week after Marcia left, Blake prepared a telegram 
to send to her, informing her that he was arriving on 
the first train, but before his secretary had time to reach 
the telegraph office with the message he telephoned to have 
it cancelled. He had not been able to convince himself 
that Marcia was genuinely enthusiastic in her invitation 
for him to accompany her. Despite the fact that she had 
repeatedly asked him to make the trip, the issue was de¬ 
finitely settled in his mind when, the evening before she 


BEYOND PARADISE 


175 


left, he indicated that he might go along and she had re¬ 
marked, “Do you really think both of us can afford to be 
away at the same time ?” He had taken this to mean that 
she had expected him to remain at home after all. 

He found that reading was the diversion most con¬ 
genial to his mood, so he read extensively. The daily 
papers were devoured to the last word with great zest. 
Once he found Marcia’s name mentioned; he gloated over 
it and saved the paper. Then reading began to pall on 
him; he realized that to cram so much matter into his 
brain without taking time for proper absorption was 
worse than remaining idle. 

His mood called for some tangible activity to which his 
whole being could respond. It was only natural that the 
diversion he had always enjoyed should be the one he 
turned to now, because it was uppermost in his interest— 
lapidary. He undertook it with much zeal; although he 
had not attempted this kind of work since carving an 
ivory geisha girl to replace the one Pansy had broken 
several years before, he had lost none of his cunning. It 
even seemed as if he had made astounding progress 
during his fallow period. He attributed this to the greater 
stability he had acquired in the performance of tedious 
tasks through the handling of surgical instruments. 

Success begets confidence. Blake installed numerous 
intricate machines in the basement of his home, and ac¬ 
quired a multitude of tools and other requisites for sculp¬ 
turing, the cutting of fine stones and the production of 
ceramics. 

“Blake, you’ve gone plumb crazy!” Folsom exploded 
when he saw the outlay. “It’s pure rot to spend a small 
fortune on something that’ll never bring you a cent in re¬ 
turn !” 

“I believe in being prepared for the worst,” jocosely 
replied Blake. “Some day I may be unable to practice 
medicine and surgery and I’ll have something to fall 
back on.” 

Folsom scowled. “Look here, Blake,” he said seriously. 
“A jest like that is liable to come to a sad realization.” 

“If it did,” Blake remarked, “would you believe my 
joking had anything to do with it?” 


176 


BEYOND PARADISE 


“Figure it out for yourself if it does happen.” 

Blake retorted quickly. “You know there is such a thing 
as coincidence.” 

“How do you mean, coincidence?” 

“A remark and an occurrence following one another in 
such a way as to make them appear connected.” 

“The thing is this, you’re not superstitious.” 

“I hope you didn’t think I was.” 

“I don’t see what harm there’d be in it.” 

“To be a believer in hoodoos?” 

Folsom looked helpless. “What kind of tommyrot are 
we talking, anyway?” 

“Superstition, as I understand it, is the subject.” 

“Well, I’m not fool enough to worry over anything 
like that.” 

“Nor am I. You don’t see any luck beans or horse 
shoes stuck in conspicuous places around here.” 

Folsom looked relieved. “I thought you were losing 
confidence in yourself; I’m glad to know you are not.” 

“You surprise me, Tom.” 

“I shouldn’t,” said Folsom, shaking his head sadly. 
“You’ve not been yourself lately. I’ve noticed it for some 
time, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak to you about 
it until now.” 

For a few moments the two friends regarded each other 
in silence; the look that passed between them meant more 
than words. Then Blake said, “I’m worried, Tom. We 
never know how little we amount to until we face dis¬ 
aster.” 

“Disaster!” 

“That’s what it looks like.” 

Folsom’s sallow face wrinkled into a puzzled frown. 
“What the devil is wrong with you, Blake?” 

“Haven’t you thought of your wife since she left?” 

“Who wouldn’t?” 

“Well, that’s my trouble.” 

“I never have worried over women and I’m getting too 
old to begin now. The words thinking and worrying have 
altogether different meanings. Think of what this world 
would come to if men spent the best part of their lives 
worrying over women.” 


BEYOND PARADISE 


177 


“But your wife?” 

“As long as she doesn’t get under my hide I let her 
have a splendid time of it. If I weren’t so damnably in¬ 
capacitated I’d be doing the same thing.” 

Blake could only stare at the man dumbfounded. Then 
he felt a keen pang of envy. A man who was able to 
solve the problems of life so calmly was not to be envied 
—he must be admired. However, Folsom was a sick man, 
on whom serious and trivial matters had about an equal 
effect. 

“So you are satisfied to allow your wife to seek the en¬ 
joyment that pleases her?” Blake demanded curiously, 
watching his business associate, whose hands were shaky 
and uncertain as he continued to examine pieces of ivory 
that were in the process of cutting. “Is that what you 
mean ?” 

“Of course I do,” returned Folsom without looking up. 
“That’s what she went for. I hope she doesn’t come 
home until she feels she can tolerate me again for a 
month or so.” 

“Your wife?” 

“Sentimentality gets you nothing.” 

Although this did not express Folsom’s views as to 
their relative position in the affections of their wives, it 
served to show which way the current of his thoughts 
was flowing. 

“That’s why I have gone into this so heavily,” Blake 
explained, waving his hand at the paraphernalia before 
them. “It keeps my mind more thoroughly occupied than 
my regular work.” 

“What are you going to do with these trinkets, any¬ 
way?” asked Folsom, turning to some untinted vases and 
half-finished stones. “Nobody is buying stuff like that 
nowadays.” 

“They’re not for sale,” replied Blake, a strange weak¬ 
ness coming over him. “None of these things can be 
bought. I’ll give some of them to a few of my best 
friends—if they will accept them. It would be folly to 
expect anyone to value them very highly for their in¬ 
trinsic worth but I hope they will be appreciated because 
they are my handiwork and tokens from me.” 


BEYOND PARADISE 


178 

Folsom approached a glass-enclosed case and began in¬ 
specting a piece of carved ivory, parts of which were cut 
to an unbelievable fineness. “Uh-huh,” he grunted, re¬ 
placing it and picking up another. “You’ve got the pa¬ 
tience of Job.” 

Blake smiled sadly. 

The following day Blake saw Phyllis for the first time 
in several months. He had business in the City Hall and 
she was in the elevator that plied between the first and 
second floors of the building. At first glimpse he was 
not certain that it was she. If it was, a marked change 
had taken place in her features; a girlhood-to-womanhood 
transformation. 

She was crowded into the corner of the small dark cage 
by several men who had rushed in ahead of him. The 
single dim light just above the head of the operator did 
not give a clear outline of her face. A large hat with 
drooping brim partially obscured her eyes, by which he 
might have known her. Still wondering if he was right 
in the possible recognition, he turned his back on those 
who had preceded him into the elevator; instantly he felt 
someone touching his elbow. When he looked around he 
was greeted with a smiling glance from remarkable eyes 
he could not associate with anyone but Phyllis. 

He was surprised at her changed bearing when the 
elevator stopped and they stepped into the corridor. When 
her baby was sick with diphtheria, he had observed for 
the first time that she was pretty; that prettiness had now 
turned to loveliness. Maternity had given her a pleasing 
womanliness of bearing; she seemed to have grown taller 
and was more plump, while sedate beauty had replaced 
the carelessness and incipience of girlhood. 

“How wonderful you look,” he said, half under his 
breath. Then aloud, “I’m surprised to see you—you’re 
looking so well. What are you doing?” 

“I’m working for Mr. Garrish, the city surveyor.” 

“Working!” he echoed, as if the whole notion of work 
was incompatible with any thought he had of her. “What 
is the nature of your work?” 

“Well,” she said, looking toward the room where Mr. 


BEYOND PARADISE 


179 


Garrish was seated at his desk, “I’ve already performed 
part of my day’s labor.” She indicated a bundle of par¬ 
cels and letters she was carrying on her arm. “And I 
should be busy now. Mr. Garrish is waiting for the 
morning mail.” She excused herself and carried the let¬ 
ters to the man at the desk; the parcels she dropped on a 
work table, presumably her own. “Then I sweep and 
dust, file away bills and miscellaneous papers, take dicta¬ 
tion and write letters,” she continued when she came back. 
“In fact, I do everything about the office. I like the work. 
It occupies my mind, and that is when I’m the happiest.” 
She stepped confidently close to him. “It helps me forget 
the past, Doctor Blake.” 

Blake alternately pitied and admired her; she seemed 
pre-eminently able to take care of herself. Apparently 
she was as carefree as any person he knew. Why should 
he want to pity anyone who was as satisfied with life as 
she seemed to be, when he had just battled through a 
night of discontent? He compared their respective out¬ 
looks on life—of today and a few years ago. Such a 
change! There had come about a complete reversal of 
conditions, as concerning them, in that time. He could 
now understand, for the first time in his life, how grief 
might drive one to contemplate self-destruction. 

“I’m glad to see you looking so well and happy,” he 
repeated. 

His voice was choked; they were the only words he 
could find. As she stood there, a veritable picture of 
health and ambition, the thought occurred to him that 
all she represented and accomplished in the future the 
world owed to him. It was not from conceit that he 
reviewed all he had done for her, but because she seemed 
now so worthy of life. He was grateful because some 
unknown force had given him the power to save her. The 
elation he felt over her happiness was the first he had 
experienced since Marcia’s departure. 

“Are you happy, too, Doctor Blake?” she asked 
abruptly. “I mean, is your life a happy one?” 

Embarrassed by the unexpected question, he was slow 
in answering. “It isn’t,” he said at length. “I wouldn’t 
tell that to everyone. But I know you well enough to 


i8o 


BEYOND PARADISE 


admit it to you without feeling I’m revealing something 
I shouldn’t.” 

“I thought—” She paused. 

“I hope you don’t mind my telling you,” he hastened 
to apologize. “I’m sorry if you didn’t care to hear.” 

Phyllis looked up at him. “Tell me anything you wish,” 
she said, “if it makes it any easier for you.” 

“Somehow,” he replied, “it’s a relief to confide in some¬ 
one.” 

“I wish I could do more than that for you!” 

“You can’t.” 

Then, as if by mutual understanding, they began talk¬ 
ing about other things. 

sis******* 

Two days later Lyman Curtis stopped at Waverly on 
his way back from the convention. Although Marcia had 
written almost daily to Blake since her departure, her 
husband’s first words were, “How was Marcia when you 
left her?” And with the same breath that gave the 
answer, Curtis asked, “How is Phyllis?” And it was 
vividly born in upon them that the world is full of grave 
perplexities. Its mysteries are not to be understood by 
man, thereby maintaining his interest at a pitch sufficiently 
high enough to keep him searching for a solution of the 
problem. In return for his striving, he receives the pit¬ 
tance that sustains life. 

Blake noticed that the information Curtis had gained 
regarding Phyllis had had a very depressing effect on 
him. He was miserable with suspense and anxiety over 
the welfare of the woman he loved and of whose child he 
was the father, but between them there existed an un¬ 
fathomed barrier, keeping them from each other with an 
inexplicable restraint. Why was this? Why should any¬ 
thing occult like this continue through the ages to make 
the heart of man ache? In the natural order of things 
he and Phyllis should be together; there was little doubt 
that they loved each other enough to live happily together, 
still there was a something persistently holding them at a 
distance. Then Blake thought of his own life—with 
Marcia. It represented a step further toward supposed 
perfection through their marriage, but it pained him more 


BEYOND PARADISE 


181 


than death itself to think that apparently this bond was 
not capable of enduring the strain it was under. For he 
had come to the definite realization that they were drifting 
apart. 

That evening Blake went to Phyllis’ house to see how 
some minor repair work was progressing which he had 
ordered begun that morning. He had called the evening 
before to ascertain the extent of the needed repairs, when 
Phyllis had casually spoken of the paper in the kitchen 
being soiled and that the baby had chipped the paint from 
some of the boards in the living room with the stove 
poker. None of the many houses he owned had ever 
before received his personal attention when matters as 
trivial as these were involved. 

He stayed late, for there was nobody waiting for him 
at home except the evanescent Pansy. 

“I like this little home,” said Phyllis, preparing a lunch 
of gingerbread, preserves and coffee. “Will you sell it 
to me?” 

“I’ll be glad to do that.” He paused to do a little cal¬ 
culating. Then he added, “I’ll make it easy for you—on 
the rental plan.” 

“I don’t want you to go out of the way for me,” she 
stated. “This is going to be a real business deal.” 

“All right,” he agreed. “What is your proposition?” 

“How much do you want?” 

Blake seemed to have the figures on the end of his 
tongue. “Fifteen hundred dollars, furnished and includ¬ 
ing the rent that’s due me.” 

“How much cash will the deal require?” 

“That is really immaterial as far as I’m concerned,” 
he said. “Any amount you can pay down will be satis¬ 
factory.” 

“Will eight hundred dollars be enough?” 

Blake was astounded. He was a shrewd business man, 
but it was beyond him to figure how she could save that 
much money after providing for herself and her little 
family. 

“Won’t that strap you?” he demanded, puzzled. 

“Not quite,” she told him, securing her check book. 
“Of course, it’s going to leave me only a small balance,” 


BEYOND PARADISE 


182 

she added after consulting the figures. “But I can pay 
you at least that much.” 

“Probably you’d better not go so strong.” 

“I’ve had this thing in mind for some time,” she ex¬ 
plained. “I know just what I can do.” 

“The place is yours without further arguing,” he stated. 
“It’s yours.” 

She wrote a check and gave it to him. He studied the 
writing for a full minute, then held it mechanically over 
a small lamp to dry it, holding it so close to the flame 
that it seemed as if he intended to burn it. From the 
lamp his gaze moved slowly about the room, resting on 
the few pieces of furniture it contained. 

“And are you happy here?” he asked. 

“I could live in a hovel and be happy with my baby 
and Gracie. The baby is so sweet and Grade is a won¬ 
derful help.” 

Blake tried to conjure something—but his imagination 
failed him. 

Folsom’s health was failing rapidly. His condition was 
so precarious that Blake deemed it advisable to notify 
his wife. This responsibility he assumed without con¬ 
sulting Folsom, for he knew that his friend would object, 
probably in no measured terms. But Blake did not risk 
putting off a matter as urgent as this. He began writing 
the message, intending to send it to Marcia, hoping to 
reach Mrs. Folsom in that way; but when he had written 
the date and her name, he was shocked to realize that he 
did not know where she was, had not known for more than 
a week. He consulted the calendar and counted ten days 
since he had heard from her. He was horrified at the 
realization. The fact that he had not received any letters 
had worried him before, but he had dismissed the matter 
as lightly as possible, convincing himself that there was 
nothing seriously wrong. Doubtless she was traveling 
and found it difficult to write. But day by day he had 
found it harder to content himself with the assumption 
he would hear from her tomorrow. Still, this state of 
affairs might have continued indefinitely had Folsom’s 
health not made it imperative to locate her. 


BEYOND PARADISE 


183 


For two days he sent telegrams to possible addresses, 
all of which were returned. He spent most of his time 
in a state of nervous restlessness, tramping to and fro 
between his office and Folsom’s room. Then his uneasi¬ 
ness turned to frenzied delirium. 

“My God!” he groaned. “Has the earth opened and 
swallowed them?” 

Folsom continued to make feeble attempts to put him 
at ease, even after he had entered the throe of death. 

“The women are all right,” he assured him. “They 
don’t think like we do.” 

Then, on the night when Folsom’s life was at ebb tide, 
remaining so for many weary hours, to finally end in 
death near the break of day, the world seemed to come 
to an end for Blake. The loss of his friend and business 
partner alone caused him enough grief to make him cry 
for solace, but this was only a trifle compared with the 
stress and anxiety he had endured for days. He felt 
keenly that he must get away for a while. As if trying 
to run away from his sorrows he climbed into the now old 
and worn sedan he had purchased several years ago for 
his first trip to Lashaway with Marcia, and unconsciously 
chose the street that eventually became the road past 
Phyllis’ house. 

As he approached her place he saw an unusually bright 
light in one of the two windows on that side of the house. 
He drove slowly, wondering what the light signified. As 
he came nearer, he saw the dim outline of someone seated 
beside a table, face buried in hands. He knew it must 
be one of the two women, though he could think of no 
reason why either of them should be up at this time, un¬ 
less the baby was sick, and if he was, why had they 
neglected calling him? He brought his automobile to a 
stop and walked hurriedly toward the house. When he 
got near enough to see the light shine golden through the 
hair of the one so sadly motionless, he knew it was 
Phyllis. Her airedale dog set up a furious barking. After 
a little coaxing the dog took to romping about him, push¬ 
ing Blake rudely against the door as he rapped. 

“I had to stop,” he explained, when Phyllis opened the 


BEYOND PARADISE 


184 

door reluctantly. “I didn’t know what to make of the 
light—you up this late in the night.” 

“I’m all right,” she assured him. “But something made 
me restless. So I’m up early.” 

“This is not early. It’s very late.” 

“It seemed the night would never pass.” 

“And you couldn’t sleep?” 

“No,” she whispered. “I think I was afraid.” 

“Then I’m glad I stopped. You don’t mind?” 

“I was so lonely.” 

“Lonely?” 

“Yes,” she whispered again. “And I knew you must 
be lonely, too.” 

“How did you know?” 

“I knew Mr. Folsom was very ill and that would—” 

“He died,” broke in Blake, as if trying to lighten his 
load of sadness by telling her. “Poor fellow. How he 
struggled to the last against death. And his going is just 
the thing to break me up completely. Perhaps he knew 
it and that is why he fought so hard. I wonder if it 
was that? I have to get away from it for a while, so I’m 
on my way to the country. I feel that I never want to 
come back.” 

As he stood in the dim moonlight, Phyllis thought she 
could see his eyes welling with tears. It seemed incredible 
in a man of his sort, who had seen death numberless 
times. Then, as he stepped into the room, where the 
light gave her a better view of his face, she saw that his 
cheeks were wet. 

“I am sorry, so sorry that you’ve lost your friend,” she 
said tenderly. “I wish I could take his place.” She 
paused a little uneasily. “Or that I could replace what 
you have lost,” she amended. 

He took her hands in his. “I wish you could,” he said. 
“More than that, I wish you—” He broke off, a clear 
meaning in his eyes. “I love you, Phyllis,” he said 
brokenly, “forgive me for saying it, but, so help me 
God, I love you.” 

What he had said did not surprise her much, for such 
affection as she had for him could not go on indefinitely 
without response. Still she was unnerved, and pretend- 


BEYOND PARADISE 


185 

ing that she heard her boy calling for her, she freed her 
hands and hurried into an adjoining room. She found 
the child sleeping soundly, giving her the opportunity she 
wanted—to think. Blake had previously told her that he 
liked her; that was quite natural and common among peo¬ 
ple, and it was possible that a man with his wide ac¬ 
quaintance liked a great many women, probably disliked 
as many more. She had been aware that he had had 
more than a passing interest in her since the day he had 
removed her from the dingy lodging house to the hospital; 
this he showed conclusively when he installed her in his 
cottage and secured Gracie as her companion. But to 
believe that he loved her—that was an entirely different 
thing. To think that he knew what he did about her and 
yet have him say he loved her seemed preposterous. A 
wonderful man like him in love with an ordinary girl like 
her! Impossible. 

Another way of looking at the matter suggested itself 
to her. How could a man with a wife as talented and 
extraordinary as Marcia be in love with her? It could 
not be! Then, too, a married man declaring his love 
for her was a flagrant infraction on the laws of society 
as she understood them. It was a horrible thing to think 
of, and it sent the blood pounding to her temples. In¬ 
fatuation, she thought, that was it! But she could not 
even believe that infatuation had prompted him to say 
what he had. She interpreted his declaration of love as 
leading up to a demand for sensual gratification. She 
tried to hold this before her mind as a burning insult, hop¬ 
ing thereby to create a hatred for him and make it easier 
for her to put him out of her mind, for she knew she must 
fight hard to control an inclination to surrender herself 
to this man. 

All through her mental battle against him her sub¬ 
conscious mind was persistently coming to his defense. 
She hoped her prolonged absence would discourage him 
and cause him to leave; she felt more secure when not 
in his presence. Once she did hear a noise, and thought 
he was going, but when she drew back the window shade 
and peered out she saw only the airedale prowling around 
protectingly. So she fell back on the bed for further 


186 


BEYOND PARADISE 


silent meditation. Her thoughts began to clarify and 
blend with the chirp of the crickets and the raucous croak 
of the frogs in the creek back of the house. These sounds 
had always made agreeable music to her ears, but sud¬ 
denly they became a harmony of almost unbearable lone¬ 
liness and anguish. 

She had never before experienced anything like this. 
Though she had had a love affair that teemed with sweet 
and bitter sorrow, when even her most rational moments 
were devoid of clear thinking, eventually to find herself 
confronted by the greatest problem of her life, her girlish 
innocence had helped then to lighten her burden. With 
maturity there came more and more the realization that 
indiscreet love exacts a severe penalty, and in admitting 
her love for Blake she was willing to forego her resolu¬ 
tion to forever exclude men from her affections and 
gladly suffer the same punishment or worse than she had 
endured—if she could have him. 

Thoughts continued to crowd through her brain. Her 
first impression of the situation, disconcerting as it was, 
had passed. She had attempted to regard the whole thing 
with contempt, only to find that she was meeting with no 
success whatever. She weighed the issues carefully, not 
only giving her own feelings consideration, but his also; 
she found it alarmingly easy to excuse him for any mis¬ 
takes he had made. At one time in her mental battle 
she had been able to persuade herself that Blake had been 
inspired in his advances by a purely beastly motive, but 
now things came to her mind that made her see why he 
might be sentimental even if he did not love her, for she 
still maintained the belief that such a thing as him loving 
her was impossible. 

“He is lonely,” she murmured to herself. “That in it¬ 
self explains everything.” Then she paused to reflect. 
She could not recall that Lyman Curtis had ever de¬ 
clared his love for her, though she had loved him with all 
the devotion of her heart. Her only regret—and even 
now she doubted that she had anything real to regret— 
was that it had blinded her to right and wrong. She 
did not believe that she had cause to be remorseful over 
an act that had been inspired by a love as uncontrollable 


BEYOND PARADISE 


187 


as the winds. “But why do such terrible things fall on 
me?” she pondered, half aloud, her thoughts turning back 
to Blake. “Of all the thousands and thousands, why 
me?” If he was lonely, that could not be held against 
him. Nor was it wrong of him to want companionship. 
In this she felt herself relenting to appeal, but still main¬ 
taining that she should be left to her freedom. The more 
she struggled with the mooted question the more conscious 
she became of how easily she could respond to his love— 
if she was certain he loved her. She considered with scorn 
the barrier his marriage to Marcia formed between them, 
vaguely recounting to herself the various ways a separa¬ 
tion from her might be effected. Then once more the 
injustice of the situation smote her. “Why, oh, why does 
he tell me that he loves me?” 

It was nearly an hour since she had left Blake; having 
heard none of the usual confusion attendant upon the 
rousing of a child from its sleep when she indicated the 
baby needed her attention, he grew restless at her pro¬ 
longed absence. Listening intently, he could hear only 
the deep, gentle breathing of the child. All else in 
deathly quietness! He hastened to look for Phyllis. He 
found her lying on the bed beside her slumbering boy, 
sobbing bitterly. Picking her up in his arms, he tried to 
look into her eyes, but she strained her face away from 
him. 

“Have I hurt you?” he demanded tenderly. “Tell me, 
have I?” 

For some time she remained inflexible against his at¬ 
tempts to draw her to him; then, gradually, her instinctive 
resistance relaxed and she slowly turned her head toward 
him. Uncertain of what she would say or do, he partially 
relaxed his passionate embrace, for the moment had passed 
when he thought she had no right to struggle against his 
caress regardless of her feeling. 

“I can hardly think that you spoke only after you had 
considered what you were saying!” 

“Of my love for you?” 

“Yes.” 

“Nobody has ever spoken to you with greater sincerity 
than I did, though the impulse was surprising to myself,” 


188 


BEYOND PARADISE 


he declared. “For a long time Eve been very lonely; that 
drove me to seek companionship—instinctively. When I 
found that companionship in you I couldn’t stop there, for 
it was more than companionship that I wanted. There is 
a vacancy somewhere, and when I saw you yesterday I 
began to understand how completely your presence filled 
that want. Something covetous seemed to break loose 
within me. I not only want you, but I love you.” 

“You’re doing me a great injustice,” she protested 
seriously. 

“I don’t understand.” 

“To talk to me about love,” she explained. “You know 
the vast, insurmountable barrier that lies between us.” 

He nodded his head. “You’re right,” he admitted. 

She regarded him doubtfully, wondering if he might be 
taunting her, knowing her as well as he did. 

“The lessons I’ve learned through my mistakes are all 
very vividly impressed on my mind,” she said gloomily. 

“Let’s not talk about that,” he cut her short. 

She stirred with a reminiscent shudder, got up and left 
the room. He followed her. With an impulsive twist 
she turned to him, her face pallid, her eyes bright with 
bitterness. She was trying to conceal the tenderness her 
entire being held for him. 

“This is impossible!” she protested, the pain in her 
heart causing the vivid whiteness of her face to pale 
deeper. “You must not talk of love to me again. Please 

__ it 

He went to the door, and as he paused an instant before 
opening it, she went instinctively to his side. 

“I love you,” he said, taking her in his arms, bending 
down and kissing her. “I will always love you.” Then, 
kissing her again, he hastened away. 

“And I love you, too,” she called softly after him. But 
he did not hear her. “And I will always love you,” she 
called again, more softly than before. 

She remained motionless as she watched him hurry 
toward his automobile; and when his outlines were lost 
in the gray dawn, she listened for the hum of the motor. 


Chapter X 

There was much whispered disapproval expressed by 
those who professed to be Folsom’s friends, some of it 
of an extremely indignant nature, when his body was held 
at the morgue for more than a week pending the locating 
and return of his wife. Some people expressed them¬ 
selves as feeling that the outcome was only what they had 
all along predicted. The situation also gave Folsom’s 
political and business enemies cause for silent but genuine 
triumph, even if it had required the hand of destiny to 
bring about a result of which they were incapable. At last 
their opponent was vanquished, and they need no longer 
fear that the cunning politician and financier would ever 
again make a last-minute stand and turn defeat into 
victory. 

When Folsom’s death became known, an uncle, Cloque 
by name, hurried on to Waverly. He made the long 
journey for no other purpose than to obtain an estimate of 
the size of the slice he was to receive from the estate, 
although he ostensibly came to carry out his nephew’s last 
request, and take his body to a St. Louis mortuary for 
cremation. It was reasonable to assume that he had re¬ 
ceived some assurance of remuneration for this service. 

Cloque, from whom Folsom had inherited many of his 
peculiar characteristics, also made good use in another way 
of Mrs. Folsom’s absence during her husband’s illness 
and following his death, over which he pretended to be 
deeply perturbed. As a matter of fact, he was nursing 
a grudge against her because she had frustrated his at¬ 
tempt to obtain a substantial loan from her husband. It 
was only after diligent inquiry that the uncle found out 
what day Mrs. Folsom would return to Waverly, where¬ 
upon he proceeded to arrange to have Folsom’s body on 
a railway express truck at the depot when she stepped 
from the train. 

‘Til teach her a lesson!” he declared vehemently. “The 
189 


190 


BEYOND PARADISE 


only way she can be made to feel ashamed is to shock 
her into it. Probably then she’ll show the respect she 
should for her husband.” 

The thing worked out beyond Cloque’s fondest intent, 
in all but one respect—Mrs. Folsom was not shocked, 
though she had sent a touching reply to the telegram that 
had informed her of her husband’s death while she was 
en route home. 

The undertaker, knowing that his reimbursement would 
be substantial, and subconsciously trained in giving the 
utmost of consideration and sympathy to the bereaved, 
preceded ahead several stations by automobile to prepare 
Mrs. Folsom for the diabolical situation the uncle had 
planned, and he assisted her from the Pullman with sober 
tenderness. A curious crowd had gathered and was 
breathlessly watching them through the window as they 
moved along the aisle, the undertaker’s grasp firm on her 
arm. When she finally stood on the platform, the as¬ 
sembly permitted itself a sigh of relief—she was con¬ 
trolling her emotions beautifully. She had alighted from 
the train, despite the undertaker’s endeavor to make the 
occasion a sad one, with the nonchalance of a debutante 
returning from a week-end spent with an aunt. 

“Is that Tom in there?” she asked plaintively, as if 
her husband had deliberately chosen to die while she was 
away. “In that wooden thing?” 

The undertaker nodded soberly. 

“Poor boy!” 

There was not a sign of tears in her eyes, though the 
faintest gleam of a supercilious smile lit her face. For 
a moment her gaze remained unflinchingly directed at 
the glaringly new box lying on a hand-truck not far 
away. On the side was painted the name “Thomas Fol¬ 
som” in black letters. To the right of this, at an angle 
of forty-five degrees, was, “Express.” 

“Who ever thought poor Tom would some day become 
mere express,” she sighed. 

Then she placed her arm around Marcia’s waist and 
walked toward an automobile a friend had provided for 
her. Far back in the crowd she observed Cloque. 
******** 


BEYOND PARADISE 


191 

But Mrs. Folsom was not as indifferent to the death 
of her husband as she had pretended to be. She had a 
part to play and she had played it well, but in her home, 
alone with Marcia, she gave vent to her pent-up grief. 
The home was no longer home; it was like a thing that is 
in competition with itself. No one could have suffered a 
more intolerable sorrow than she; yet it was rumored that 
if Folsom had not died when he did a divorce would have 
been inevitable. Since Folsom’s death had definitely put 
an end to such a possibility, and Marcia had been Mrs. 
Folsom’s companion during her recent sojourn, the scan¬ 
dalmongers automatically chose her for disparagement 
even before she returned home. 

Although the married life of the Folsoms had never 
been marked by tender affection, the fact that they had 
lived together for twenty years was sufficient assurance 
that Mrs. Folsom’s behavior at the depot was merely an 
effort to throw her disparagers into confusion. When 
all conditions are favorable and the mind imaginative, it 
is possible to fancy that oil poured on troubled waters has 
a calming effect; but more often fire is fought with fire, 
and one must conclude that such was the course Mrs. 
Folsom had determined to pursue when the undertaker 
had so kindly become her informant. Marcia rebelled 
stubbornly against her attitude. 

“You’re making it difficult for me,” she complained. 
“You’re foot-loose—can do as you please. I have to main¬ 
tain the dignity of my home. The remarks you made at 
the depot are open to censure, and anything you say reacts 
more against me than yourself. There is no telling what 
effect all this will have on Don. Our affairs are linked in 
such a way that I’m bound to suffer when your behavior 
is not—” 

“Oh, now, my dear,” broke in Mrs. Folsom, “I hope 
you haven’t forgotten how delightful and perfectly dis¬ 
creet you thought my actions were when I helped you the 
time Mr. Willets was a guest in your home.” 

“I’ll never forget it. I’ve often told you how grateful 
I feel.” 

Even as Marcia spoke she resolved never again to make 
even one of her closest friends her confidante, or allow 


192 


BEYOND PARADISE 


them to do something for her that she must eventually 
repay, probably with interest so compounded that it would 
bankrupt her. 

“Then think of that now—hard,” Mrs. Folsom ad¬ 
vised her. “Stick—to—me—now—if—you—ever—did. I 
need you.” 

Marcia saw that in her grief her friend was thinking 
only of herself. 

“All right,” she assented. “What do you want me to 
do?” 

“I don’t know yet,” returned the other hysterically. 
“But there’ll be enough when I can think.” 

Marcia felt it best that she should be wary of making 
promises, but her generous heart did not hesitate long 
over a decision, even though she was perturbed. “Very 
well,” she assented, “you can depend on me.” 

“Oh, thank you so much. You are a darling!” 

Yet Marcia could not bring herself to believe that she 
was really indebted to the extent her friend claimed, for 
Mrs. Folsom had assumed the role of hostess to Willets 
on her own initiative; this, however, was no time for 
contention. She remembered very vividly how much she 
had welcomed Mrs. Folsom’s attention to Willets after 
Mrs. Stratchan had spoken insinuatingly about his con¬ 
valescence at her home. Even though an altogether selfish 
motive had inspired Mrs. Folsom in this, Marcia con¬ 
sidered it was one of the most unselfish things she had 
ever done for her. 

After weighing her thoughts, Marcia announced, “I’m 
doing it to help combat a lot of catty gossips!” 

The ring of bitterness in her voice roused Mrs. Folsom’s 
apprehension. She moved over to where Marcia was 
ensconced in a pile of pillows on the divan. 

“I always thought you were my friend,” she said, 
muffled sobbing choking her words. “Are you?” 

“Why, of course, I am,” Marcia assured her. “You 
know that.” 

“Then don’t hurt me more than I have already been 
hurt. You’re so vindictive when you speak to me. . . 

Please don’t be!” 


BEYOND PARADISE 


193 

Marcia frowned. “You have suddenly changed. Less 
than an hour ago you seemed very indifferent.” 

“That was forced,” the other broke in. “You know as 
well as I do that that was only pretended indifference.” 
She looked up suddenly. “Do you think I could really 
be as void of all feeling as that?” 

“I’m undecided,” Marcia admitted. 

Mrs. Folsom grew defiant. “You’re not undecided,” 
she declared hotly. “Your opinion of me parallels that 
of Cloque and others, but I don’t care any more who I 
offend with my actions.” She sank limply into a chair, 
sobbing, her head falling into the curve of her plump arm. 
After a while she sat up and dried her eyes, looking at 
Marcia with a sidewise glance. “I see grief has no 
friends,” she said, with an air of beautiful resignation. 

“You’re magnifying your troubles,” accused Marcia 
curtly. “Sometime ago I did that and I know what it is.” 

Marcia wanted to be sorry for Mrs. Folsom, though she 
knew that her outbursts must be regarded rather lightly, 
for neither Cloque nor any other living mortal had the 
power to inflict a hurt on her conscience. 

“You speak to me with the rancor of my worst enemy. 
I had hoped you were one who would never hate me.” 

Marcia’s irritability increased. “I’ll never hate you,” 
she protested, “but if you continue to talk the way you 
have you’ll make me angry!” 

Mrs. Folsom stirred uneasily. “I am sick.” 

“So am I.” 

“I wish I’d stayed at home.” 

“So do I; yet I cannot say I’m sorry I attended the 
convention. It’s a pity, however, that people are unable 
to control their tongues. It hardly seems possible that a 
mistake was made at the time of creation, but it does ap¬ 
pear that there was a slip somewhere when everybody was 
given a full quota of tongue and vocal chords, regardless 
of their ability to control them. Some people should be 
without these organs, just as some birds are without suffi¬ 
cient wings for flight.” 

“There are those who are short more than that,” sug¬ 
gested Mrs. Folsom, apparently finding relief in the accu¬ 
sation. “People don’t know themselves. They grow old 


194 


BEYOND PARADISE 


before they find the place where they belong. The world 
could get along with less variety.” 

“Yes, I believe it could,” Marcia assented absently. “In 
fact, there’s no question in my mind about you being 
right.” 

Then they remained silent, both deep in meditation, as 
if trying to find their particular niches. 

******** 

Because Blake was not at the depot to meet Marcia 
when she arrived, she worried over it all the way home, 
and this uneasiness was in a great measure responsible 
for her testy replies and irritability toward Mrs. Folsom. 
Her mood was one of suspended emotion as the taxi 
bumped over the worn, rough brick pavement, until she 
saw her little gray-and-brown home in the distance, when 
she became conscious of strange and disquieting fears. 

After alighting and paying the driver, she hesitated an 
instant, watching the taxi as it whirred away. Then, with 
sudden determination, she hurried up the inclined walk 
toward the house. Once inside, a feeling of security and 
reassurance came over her, and she breathed a sigh of 
relief. In the house she found only the self-effacing 
Pansy to greet her. The fact that Blake had so far evaded 
her entirely, whether intentionally or not, caused her some 
anxiety. She thought the thing over. She grew angry 
for no definite cause, and her anger was followed by 
various nervous reactions, a condition for the most part 
peculiar to the feminine sex. She paced about the house 
to relieve her twitching muscles. At short intervals she 
stopped at one of the windows facing the street, looking 
out expectantly, and when Blake did not appear her gaze 
strayed far out into space. A train of depressing thoughts 
surged through her brain. She wished she had not told 
Mrs. Folsom she did not regret attending the convention. 

Suddenly, automatically, she resumed her old habit of 
looking for her husband in the private consultati.on room 
he maintained in the house. As she opened the door of 
this room a musty smell filtered through her nostrils. She 
rolled up the half-drawn shades, raised the windows. 
Evidently the room had not been occupied for several 
days—probably weeks. On the desk was a writing pad 


BEYOND PARADISE 


195 


with a long list of names. The writing was Pansy's pe¬ 
culiarly microscopic script. On a shelf beside the desk 
were a dozen or more empty prescription bottles, each 
placed on a small piece of paper with a memorandum on 
it; these notations were also written in Pansy’s hand¬ 
writing. There was a stack of unopened mail and a tele¬ 
gram tucked away in a drawer. The message she tried 
to avoid seeing a second time, for she had always had a 
horror of the sealed yellow envelopes of telegrams; they 
had been a source of terror to her since the day one had 
brought her the sad news of her mother’s death. But 
try as she would, she could not avoid seeing and speculat¬ 
ing about this telegram. For some time she continued to 
worry over it. Then she realized that it was not alto¬ 
gether her innate aversion for the telegram that was 
troubling her; it was the evil atmosphere created by the 
musty smell in the room, the accumulation of dust on the 
furniture, the week-old unopened mail, the inexplicable 
absence of Blake, that was causing her perturbation. 

She was hurrying from the room when a suffocating 
lump rose in her throat, her knees trembled, her hands 
became numb, and her vision blurred. She steadied her¬ 
self against the door. When she had regained her com¬ 
posure sufficiently to trust her legs to bear her weight, she 
went back and with nervous hands ripped open the yellow 
envelope. It was as she had expected—her own message, 
which she had sent three days ago. Then, in a wild 
frenzy, she hurried to Pansy. 

“When did this telegram arrive?” she demanded. 

“I don’t know,” said Pansy, meekly. 

“You don’t know?” 

“I mean, I don’t remember.” 

“Who signed for it?” 

“I did.” 

“And you don’t remember when you did it?” 

“Well, no.” 

Pansy was talking with an evasiveness unnatural to her. 
Marcia suspected she had been prompted. She would try 
to throw her off her guard. 

“It wasn’t a long time ago that it came?” 


196 


BEYOND PARADISE 


“Today? You mean it was not long today since it 
came ?” 

This reply, Marcia thought, was more in conformity 
with the maid’s mentality. There was in this at least 
some comparison with her usual vernacular. Marcia 
assumed from this that she had diverted the maid’s atten¬ 
tion from her carefully prepared way of answering the 
questions that were put to her. 

“Where is Doctor Blake?” Marcia asked quickly. “You 
know!” 

“Well, let me see,” said the maid helplessly. 

Evidently Pansy was in a quandary. Her unusual be¬ 
havior put Marcia on the alert for a hint that might be¬ 
tray Blake. Although she avoided this successfully, it 
was evident that the girl was doing her best to shield him. 

“Where is he?” Marcia reiterated her demand. “Do 
you know ?” 

“Don’t you think, ma’am,” asked Pansy slyly, “that it 
would be more good for you to keep your eye on your 
husband than to ’low I should do it ?” 

Marcia was dumbfounded. All she could do was glare 
at the girl. Several times, while listening to her friends 
lamenting over the servant situation, Marcia had ex¬ 
pounded her positive methods of dealing with unruly 
servants. Now the opportunity to prove her theories was 
at hand, and she was helpless. She thought of dismissing 
Pansy, but the maid had indicated that she would willingly 
accept just such a punishment, and probably would be 
glad to make a change. Such a course would not remedy 
the situation; and, after all, whose fault was it that Pansy 
had spoken so disrespectfully? But Pansy’s defiant atti¬ 
tude compelled her to resort to coaxing as she ques¬ 
tioned further. “Then you don’t know where Doctor 
Blake is?” 

“No, ma’am.” 

“When was he home the last time?” 

“I don’t know, ma’am. His comings and goings ain’t 
never the same for some time now.” 

“Very well. ... Go about your work.” 

* * * * * * * * 

It was long after Blake’s usual time to come home for 


BEYOND PARADISE 


197 


the evening before Marcia telephoned to his office to 
ascertain what was keeping him. She had been waiting 
all of a minute before she heard the receiver at the other 
end of the line lifted, and then there was no other sound. 
The silence at the other end of the line made her furious. 

“Is that you, Don?” she inquired. 

“Ye-yes. . . . Well, you in town?” 

His voice sounded thick, as if it might be that of a 
drunken man. It was with a terrible effort that she as¬ 
sured him that she was in town, . . at home, . . 

had been for a long time. 

“Uh-huh,” he grunted. “Someone just told me you got 
home. I didn’t believe it. . . . Was just going to 
telephone to find out if it was so when I found you on 
the line.” 

She was horrified. It was really the first time Blake 
had ever been so high-handed when speaking to her. 

“When are you coming home?” she asked, more as a 
matter of custom than because she had any desire to see 
him. “You know, I’m anxious to see you.” 

“You are, eh?” 

“Why ... of course ... I am.” 

“I’ll be there as soon as I finish here.” 

“Finish what?” she demanded sharply. 

“Well, my professional duties haven’t become entirely 
public while you were away!” he reminded her. “I’m 
busy right now.” 

With that the receiver clicked on the hook. His curt, 
ambiguous reply was maddening to Marcia. She could 
not understand it! Donald Blake acting like that! She 
was afraid to see him while he was in this mood. She 
wanted to go for a drive and be away when he came 
home, but that would only complicate the situation fur¬ 
ther. There was no other way but to remain and face 
what was confronting her. 

Pansy was requested to give her best efforts to the 
evening meal, to hurry into preparation a certain few 
delicacies that had hitherto pleased Blake. But the haste 
was unnecessary, for it was two hours before he brought 
his automobile to an abrupt stop on the concrete drive, 
midway between the street and garage. 


198 


BEYOND PARADISE 


Marcia had hastened out when she saw him coming 
and was standing in the door, nervously pressing her nails 
into her lips as Blake climbed out of the machine. He 
failed to notice her, did not appear to look for her. 
When he began romping playfully with a Boston bull pup, 
an addition to the household during her absence, she felt 
strongly inclined to flight. But immediately she excused 
his actions. The dog was entitled to first consideration, 
having shown enough interest in his master to rush out 
to him. She should be no less demonstrative than the 
dog, and, running down the steps, she hurried toward him. 
He looked up from his sitting posture as he held the dog 
captive with his back to the ground. 

“Let go a minute, Bo,” he commanded the pup, trying 
to free himself from the tenaciously gripping jaws fasten¬ 
ed on the sleeve of his coat. “Bo, let go, I tell you!” 
He cuffed the dog vigorously. “So you are home,” he 
said, rising. Then, putting his arm carelessly about her, 
added, “You look as if you’d had a fine trip. I’m glad 
of it. I made enough money today to pay for the whole 
business.” 

He flourished a handful of currency and then shoved 
the money into Marcia’s apron pocket. This was an un¬ 
usual greeting. 

“How nice!” she said with a smile. “But it’s time I 
came home or you’d have grown too rich for me.” 

“Well, did you enjoy yourself?” 

“Yes. Very much.” 

He bent down and kissed her on the cheek with about 
the same ardor shown by a boy who is compelled to kiss 
an aunt he does not like. 

“Well, you could have stayed longer. We were getting 
along fine,” he offered generously. 

“I think I’ve been away too long now,” she replied 
sadly. “I’m never going away again .... without 
you.” 

He seemed not to hear her. Apparently he was more 
coldly indifferent than when she left. Was it possible 
that this state was becoming habitual with him? Was 
it her fault? 

She had expected to find him changed, either com- 


BEYOND PARADISE 


199 


plaining or exultant. Some change had been antici¬ 
pated, either because of his inability to locate her before 
Folsom’s death, or because of her prolonged absence. 
Instead, she found him manifestly inured to her absence, 
of which he had complained so violently during her first 
venture into politics. Marcia had prepared herself for a 
condition that failed to exist. Had Blake been abusive, 
she would not have resented it; had he been exuberant 
in his affection and joy at her return, she would have 
reciprocated; had he been suspicious and jealous, she 
would not have blamed him. But to find him apathetic 
was distracting. It was neither anger nor happiness that 
she perceived in his face, nor sign of hurt. It was, in¬ 
stead, a mingling of mental stress and a wearisome 
vacuity. He seemed to have experienced a return of 
that feminine disinterest that had marked his boyhood 
and early manhood, and which was still in evidence when 
she became acquainted with him. 

Marcia sat down on the running-board of the car. Like 
the woman she was, she wanted to laugh, to cry, to give 
vent to the myriad emotions that were surging for ex¬ 
pression. Such was the shock of the realization that 
came to her. Then he increased her perplexity with the 
strangest conduct she had ever seen him display. 

“Heavens! I never knew I could miss you the way I 
did,” he said, reaching down and putting his powerful 
arm around her waist and lifting her with strangely 
caressing roughness. This was indeed an unprecedented 
thing for him to do. His actions were unnatural and 
mechanical. They were as mysterious to her as the 
machinations of a conjurer. His heavy eyes were con¬ 
gested as he held her close. On his breath was the smell 
of liquor, but she could have forgiven this and everything 
else if he would only love her with his former tenderness. 
“God, how I’ve missed you,” he repeated, with a brutality 
of inflection that made his words repulsive. 

“How strong you are!” she sighed, evading him as he 
again closed his arm savagely about her. “And you really 
missed me?” 

“You little devil, don’t think for a minute that I didn’t!” 


200 


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“I don’t,” she said lightly, trying hard to overlook his 
behavior. “Of course, I don’t.” 

This thought came to her: could he ever again be the 
man of old ? But she was also certain of this: whatever 
shortcomings he had recently developed she would gladly 
ignore, even if she could not easily tolerate them. 

As they walked to the house, she observed positive 
signs of intoxication, and she took affectionate hold of 
his arm. When they mounted the steps he swayed and 
staggered, his bulk pulling her with him. He made a 
splendid attempt to conceal his unsteadiness. As his real 
condition became more and more apparent, his conduct 
was more understandable. Although Marcia was too in¬ 
experienced to know, she presumed he had been extremely 
drunk for a prolonged period, though he was eminently 
able to take care of himself at the present time. The 
dog, his name, suddenly had a very deep significance for 
her. It was one that might be the choice of the ribald 
and low-bred. Had he been associating with such while 
she was away? 

“ 'Bo!’ ” she murmured under her breath. “Such a 
name! It doesn’t sound like him. Not like Donald Blake. 
I could easily enough imagine him calling a dog Prince. 

. . . But Bo. . . . No! Positively not that!” 

“Look out there, Bo,” Blake attempted to check the 
dog in his gambolings. “Take it easy, now.” 

“Where did you get that dog?” she asked. “And that 
name ?” 

Blake took time to answer. “He was given to me by a 
friend,” he said at length. “He had that name when I 
got him.” 

“He is such a funny thing!” 

“Don’t you like him?” 

“Oh, yes.” But she did not. 

“Here, Bo, old boy,” coaxed Blake when they were in 
the house, “get up there and show Mamma what you can 
do. Come on, now. Get up there in that chair. Go on. 

. . . Mind. . . Go on, now. Get up there.” 

The dog clambered with puppy-like laboriousness into 
a large tapestry chair. 


BEYOND PARADISE 


201 


“Watch him, Marcia,” Blake urged. “He’s going to 
do a trick.” 

Further verbal instructions to coax the dog through a 
series of singularly awkward contortions were not re¬ 
quired. 

“Who taught him those tricks?” Marcia inquired with 
curious interest. 

Blake looked boyish. “I did.” 

“He must be an apt dog to learn so quickly.” 

“A lot can happen in six weeks,” he reminded her. 

Marcia was ashamed to think she had been away that 
long and did not care to speak about it. 

“He’s wonderfully well trained for a pup.” 

“Wouldn’t I be an excellent father if we had children?” 
he suggested with mild sarcasm. “Think of the good 
qualities in me that have never been given a chance.” 

Marcia ignored his reference to their childless mar¬ 
riage and continued to center her interest in the dog. 

“He will ruin the chair with antics like that,” she 
suggested. Then, pointing at a smudge the dog had made 
on the upholstery, she added, “Look at what he did just 
now.” 

“Uh-huh. Performances of this kind will have to be 
limited to one or possibly two weekly.” 

“Dogs really shouldn’t be allowed in the house at all.” 

“I agree with you!” 

“Then why are you training him to be a house-dog?” 

“For companionship.” 

Pansy came to the door and announced that dinner was 
served. They left the room together, the dog at Blake’s 
heels. At the table, when Marcia was seated, Blake 
grasped her by the arm, bringing brutal pressure to bear 
on it. Although intended as a display of affection, he 
seemed also to be trying to show her how utterly he could 
dominate her with his extraordinary strength, and how 
useless it would be for her to fight against him if she ever 
found it necessary to do so. 

For several days Marcia had difficulty adjusting her¬ 
self to conditions. The very furnishings in her house did 
not look the same, and she wondered at her taste when 


202 


BEYOND PARADISE 


she had selected them. The streets in Waverly were 
desolate; she missed the taxi-cabs and trolley cars; the 
buildings along the business thoroughfares were such un¬ 
pretentious affairs that she smiled pityingly every time 
she looked at them. 

But by the end of a week she had again fallen into a 
groove of monotonous tolerance, content to live in an 
isolated little world that consisted of Waverly and its 
trade territory, where her wildest activity was extensive 
and undisturbed reading, attendance on social functions 
and club gatherings, going to the movies, and helping 
Pansy with the cooking and cleaning. Blake had again 
expressed a desire that she should accompany him on 
long drives in the country; and as time passed and she 
accustomed herself to his changed ways, nothing worried 
her, except that her ambition periodically flared up like a 
dormant volcano, and she had difficulty in controlling a 
yearning to get away. 

With attacks of restlessness recurring more regularly, 
Marcia's idea to make Waverly a port-of-entrance for 
politicians was revived. She decided that the town could 
be rejuvenated and transformed into a budding metropolis. 
Enough of those with social aspirations, financial requis¬ 
ites, business ability, set off with a sufficient sprinkling of 
the artistically adept, resided there to make such a thing 
a possibility. All that was lacking was the initial incentive. 
But Marcia could not provide this—that is, go further 
than suggesting it to some ambitious person who could 
devote time to it. At present her work was in relation 
with other phases of politics—she was already contemplat¬ 
ing a speaking tour for the successful convention candi¬ 
date, if she found Willets persistently urgent enough. 

Folsom, who had succumbed prematurely to the beckon¬ 
ing of death, could have undertaken both of these ven¬ 
tures at one time and have succeeded with ease. She 
criticized him even now because he had never attempted it. 
But Folsom was the type who was content to see others 
held in subjection through his own aggression. As long 
as his competitors were not allowed to advance beyond 
a certain point they were not likely to pass him. Even 
successful men have their faults, and he had his, the chief 


BEYOND PARADISE 


203 


of which was his refusal to divulge the press-button that 
had made his life a success. He believed in making every¬ 
body work out their own destiny. 

For some unknown reason the thought of Folsom was 
persistently returning to Marcia’s mind that day. There 
also came the realization of how invaluable he had been 
to her as a political colleague. He had told her he did not 
believe in wheedling the comatose worm from his cocoon 
and instilling him with the ambition that would ultimately 
convert him into a formidable competitor; he believed that 
the survival of the fittest was the world’s natural defense 
against deterioration and retrogression. To advise a 
man how to make a better livelihood without increasing 
his energy was nothing other than teaching him to gamble 
well. “The farmer does not feed acorns to his hogs 
because he loves them,” he had told her. 

One day, while on a drive in the country with Blake, 
Marcia had an unusually severe seizure of one of these 
fits of retrospective despondency. But when she came 
home and found a letter in the mail from Willets, her 
outlook on the world grew brighter. In his letter Willets 
asked her to help him elect the man the convention had 
brought forward as the standard bearer of his party. Be¬ 
cause he was laboring against tremendous odds, it was 
obvious why he was calling on every resource at his com¬ 
mand to stem the menacing tide. It filled her with an un¬ 
warranted pride when he went on to explain that he could 
think of no one who understood the intricacies of the 
political situation in her community as she did; therefore 
it was of paramount importance that he avail himself of 
her support. The time had come when he must demon¬ 
strate that his party was justified in the confidence it had 
in him. He was asking her to help him avert defeat at 
the hands of his enemies, in and outside of the party, and 
save him from the ignominy that accompanies failure. 

It was, indeed, an unusual sort of letter to receive from 
one who had reigned so supremely at the convention only 
a few weeks before; still it contained much sound reason¬ 
ing; and part of it revealed the writer’s rather selfish na¬ 
ture. Marcia’s first impulse was to refuse Willet’s re¬ 
quest. But when a telegram followed the letter while she 


204 


BEYOND PARADISE 


was still pondering over it, she concluded that he must 
be urgently in need of her support. She wanted him to 
succeed, and without her aid he might fail. He was ad¬ 
mitting that much himself! She was holding his destiny 
in her hands. Suddenly, in her impulsive way, and with¬ 
out consulting Blake, she resolved to stand by him before 
it was too late. A reply in the form of a night-letter 
telegram was sent to Willets that night. 

When she told Blake about what she had done he ob¬ 
jected strenuously. Whims of one kind or another were 
seizing her more and more frequently, and his opposition 
to her plans arose spontaneously within him. Then he 
thought that possibly he might be unreasonable. But 
after discussing the matter at great length with Marcia, 
devoting rational consideration to it to make certain that 
his opposition was not merely a flare-up of the impulses, 
he found his determination to keep her out of the cam¬ 
paign unaltered. He employed every persuasive means 
he could think of to induce her to withdraw her accept¬ 
ance. But Marcia, despite his demands and pleadings, 
remained obdurate, continuing to make preparations to 
begin work as soon as an itinerary could be assigned to 
her. 

It was now that Blake realized, for the first time since 
he had known Marcia, what kind of will power he was 
dealing with. So far in his professional career he had 
been successful beyond his fondest dream, but it took 
something like this—Marcia’s inflexible will—to prove to 
him that he was only a smoothly working machine, one 
that performed beautifully as long as it was not thrown 
out of order by some unexpected twist. In Marcia he 
perceived another kind of machine, a delicate but forceful 
one, that managed the most intricate affairs with such 
tact that the force she employed was perceptible only 
as a convincing persuasion. But she could be so redoubt¬ 
able, tenaciously resolute, when other means failed, that 
he could see himself brushed aside by her firmness, while 
he blundered in to fill the gap left in her wake. 

“Politicians are parasites,” he declared at last, “who 
don’t hesitate to suck the last drop of blood out of people 


BEYOND PARADISE 


205 

who trust them. If you are going through with this thing 
I’ll think the same of you!” 

“I’m not that kind of a politician,” she objected mildly. 
“If I couldn’t be something different it would be useless 
for me to take up the cudgel.” 

“Then what are you?” 

“A speaker, a messenger heralding the coming of a new 
era,” she replied fantastically. “An enlightenment for 
those who—” 

“Oh, bunk!” he broke in. “I hate to hear you babble 
like a fool!” 

“You don’t understand. I’m serious.” 

“Then let us talk seriously.” 

“All right,” she assented. “Go ahead. I’ll listen.” 

“You are nothing but a cog in a wheel of a damnable 
political machine!” he declared impetuously. “I know.” 

“Do you really think I am precisely that?” 

“You are, figuratively speaking.” 

Marcia’s face twisted into an expression of pain, her 
eyes cloudy. 

“This speaking tour of four weeks will be the last of 
my campaigning. But I must do it. . . . Don’t think 

that I want to be antagonistic, Don. I’ve promised. . . 

. . . Won’t you be a good boy and let me fulfill my 

promise without making me feel that I’m stealing some¬ 
thing from you? Allow me to do this and it will posi¬ 
tively be the end of my campaigning.” 

He felt easier, glad that she was willing to make even 
this concession. 

“If it is your last,” he said, “I’ll consent.” 

“It will be my last,” she promised. 

******** 

The same mail that had brought the letter from Willets 
also contained a letter from Mrs. Folsom. She was 
spending a fortnight with relatives in St. Louis before 
proceeding East to make arrangements to place her chil¬ 
dren in a boarding school for the winter. Marcia was 
glad she had no children to place in a boarding school or 
to leave at home with the nurse-maid. At least people 
could not accuse her of neglecting them. 

The letter practically commanded Marcia to go to 


206 


BEYOND PARADISE 


the Folsom mansion—the Folsoms had purchased the 
great graystone house from the Dumont estate—to see 
that Coats, the caretaker, was precisely carrying out her 
orders about protecting the furniture and hangings and 
silver and paintings and what not against dust and other 
injury. Her postscript read, “And then you know how 
Coats behaves when I’m away. I can’t trust him. He 
might make my house a rendezvous for card playing and 
drinking. Please remind him that I’ll not tolerate any¬ 
thing like that.” 

Marcia hurried over to the Folsom house early the 
following morning. It was one of those splendid late 
summer days that makes one wish the whole year could be 
crammed into this particular season. The sun was warm, 
but the stifling humidity of summer had vanished from 
the air. Coats was in an open space on the lawn talking 
authoritatively to a man Marcia recognized as Garrish, 
the city engineer. A third person, a woman, wearing a 
large, drooping velour hat and standing with her back 
toward Marcia, was jotting notes on a writing-pad which 
Garrish dictated to her with predicatory gestures when 
Coats was not monopolizing the conversation. 

“Good morning, Mrs. Blake,” said Coats, bowing 
elaborately when he observed her. “Whom do you wish 
to see?” 

As Coats spoke to Marcia the woman swung around 
abruptly. She was young, fair, of marked features, her 
brown eyes half veiled by their tawny lashes. Something 
instantly stirred Marcia’s recollective faculties into 
activity. Groping far back in the remotest recesses of 
her brain, the image of this woman was uncovered, but 
her identity still escaped her. The thing puzzled her un¬ 
comfortably—the vague recollection she had of this 
woman. 

“Yes, Coats,” she said abstractedly, “I wish to speak 
to you.” 

“In just a moment, ma’am,” he replied, with a sort of 
veiled insolence. “If you aren’t in too big a hurry.” 

Marcia bit her lips impatiently over his impertinence. 
Coats was one of those fatuous persons whose mind 
ceases to develop at an early age, although the body 


BEYOND PARADISE 


207 


continues to grow to the proportions of an ordinary man. 
That was why he became inflated with importance when 
Marcia informed him she had a business matter to transact 
directly with him. He could have instantly concluded his 
business with Garrish, for he had called the engineer to 
consult over a trivial transaction to which his mistress 
had objected in the usual manner when he had tried to 
induce her to agree to it. He had selected a time when 
Mrs. Folsom was absent to obtain estimates on the cost 
of a grade line for the grounds. “That will facilitate a 
better drainage for the turf and check the rank growth 
of water-grass that yearly becomes more of a nuisance. ,, 
He said more as he paid Garrish with his own money. 
Then he excused himself and moved toward Marcia. 

“What is it, ma’am?” he asked. “Sorry I had to keep 
you waiting.” 

“I have a letter here from Mrs. Folsom.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Marcia thought it was best to produce the letter as a 
credential to permit her to go through the house. Know¬ 
ing him as she did, she thought he might become ob¬ 
jectionable if he felt she was acting without authority. 
He eagerly reached for the letter while she was unfolding 
it to find the part she wanted him to read. She drew 
away sharply. 

“This is a personal letter,” she objected. She knew 
she must be severe with him if she was to deal with him 
at all. Then, indicating with her finger, she added, “This 
is the only paragraph in which you are interested.” 

Coats read long enough to go over the entire seven 
pages, which he would undoubtedly have done if he had 
been left in possession of the letter, for he was slowly 
unfolding and turning it when Marcia requested him to 
return it to her. 

“That is just like the woman,” he said deprecatingly. 
“She’s always worrying. Her grief is so intense and yet 
she finds time to—” 

“Come,” she interrupted him, “let us go in the house.” 

Marcia knew him to be a man who talked incessantly 
in redundant similes and metaphors if given an oppor¬ 
tunity, usually vociferating more and more noisily as he 


208 


BEYOND PARADISE 


progressed. Because she was not in a mood to listen to 
his gibbering that morning, she had cut him short. On 
the steps of the veranda she stopped, and when she looked 
back she saw Garrish helping the young woman with the 
velour hat into his automobile. 

“Who is that woman?” she asked. 

“She is his secretary, ma’am. Mr. Garrish’s secre¬ 
tary.” 

“I mean, what is her name?” 

Phyllis had revealed her real identity only to Gracie, 
having been known as Mrs. Jones to the hospital people, 
Doctor Worth, and her Austrian neighbors—the Austrians 
still knew her by that name. Sober consideration of her 
position after her attempt at taking her life had been 
frustrated, had reconciled her to her destiny, and she 
yielded to the inevitable necessity of confessing her plight, 
the consequences, whatever they might be, she no longer 
dreaded to face. So she had long ago resumed the name 
of Phyllis Girard. 

Coats had backed up against one of the stone lions that 
formed the copings on the low walls at either end of the 
steps. “Let me see,” he puzzled thoughtfully. “I know 
her name. I’ll catch it in a minute. It is right in my 
mouth—on my tongue, I should say.” The thumb of his 
left hand was hooked under his chin and his forefinger 
was tapping his tensely drawn lips. Then he began stam¬ 
mering: “Gir—Gir—Gir—” When he caught the name 
he shouted it with a projectile burst of breath. 

“Phyllis Girard ?” Marcia asked. 

“Yes, ma’am. Phyllis Girard. That’s it. You’re right, 
Phyllis Girard. I could never have thought of that name 
Phyllis.” 

Marcia turned and climbed slowly up the steps. 

******** 

While Marcia went about her work as a politician, 
Blake regarded with misgivings the struggle he was wag¬ 
ing to retain the affections of his wife, though he was too 
proud to come out into the open with his apprehensions. 
Pretty things, travel and position appealed to her. All 
of these could be acquired with money. Although Blake 
had always yearned for wealth, it now became the sole 


BEYOND PARADISE 


209 

object of his life. He suddenly discovered that he was 
by far the busiest man in Waverly. 

With O’Day, who had become an authority on the feed¬ 
ing of sheep, but who possessed positively no other ability, 
he had assumed charge of the business Folsom’s death 
had devolved upon them. Blake lacked the Folsom in¬ 
genuity to buy and sell, but O’Day gave the sheep excel¬ 
lent care and their venture resulted in even larger profits 
than under Folsom’s shrewd dealing. This made Blake 
anxious to acquire the Folsom share. O’Day had only a 
small financial interest in the business, enough to keep him 
in the firm and enlist his conscientious efforts to have 
the sheep bring top prices on the market. 

With the outlook encouraging, Blake was anxiously 
awaiting the return of Mrs. Folsom, confident that he 
could negotiate successfully with her. In becoming sole 
owner of the Waverly Sheep Feeding Company, a venture 
Folsom had undertaken years ago as an experiment, Blake 
could see his goal of wealth dimly in the offing. With 
riches he foolishly hoped to regain the affections of his 
wife. His inordinate desire to gain control of the business 
would not let him rest; he dwelt on it so strongly that for 
the time being he devoted almost his entire energy to this 
single transaction. Eventually, when the preliminaries of 
the deal were completed, he sent a telegram to Mrs. 
Folsom, stating his proposition, and. very promptly re¬ 
ceived a reply from her, informing him that she accepted 
his offer. He gloated over his victory. 

This rather minor success made him feel he had become 
a man of power, a colossus in his community, to which 
he had succeeded by dint of ingenious and industrious 
aggressiveness. Even though he had not been home for 
several days, his arrogance would not allow him to think 
of making amends to Marcia. His nights were spent at 
the hospital or on the road making long drives to meet 
professional appointments or to consult with colleagues, 
leaving the days to spend with his lawyer and financial 
advisers in connection with the consummation of the Fol¬ 
som deal. It was with great self-satisfaction that he re¬ 
garded himself as capable of centering himself so un- 
dividedly on a business transaction. 


310 


BEYOND PARADISE 


Marcia worried interruptedly, visualizing a multitude of 
things that might befall him when he did not come home. 
She worried as only women can worry, especially wives. 
Husbands worry sometimes, but usually not so much over 
the safety and welfare of their wives as they do about 
their behavior when they are not with them. Marcia 
found it quite easy, however, to convince herself that 
venial inattention and pressing business goes hand in hand. 
She was soon to venture on a political speaking tour that 
bade fair to become indefinitely prolonged, Willets having 
even hinted in his letter that he might ask her to extend 
her itinerary if the trend of events forecasted a close 
election, and she would thereby more than even the score. 

“I’ve effected the biggest deal ever executed in Wav- 
erly!” Blake expatiated gleefully when he came home 
after securing Mrs. Folsom’s signature to the articles that 
closed the transaction. “With the exception of O’Day 
owning a small part, just enough to make him feel he’s 
obligated, I’m now sole owner of the Waverly Sheep 
Feeding Company. A mere two hundred thousand dollars 
involved in the purchase! I, who came here a dozen years 
ago as a mere upstart, at the head of the biggest business 
in town. Let me tell you, it requires no small amount of 
ability to engineer anything like that!” He talked while 
he strode about the room. He stopped abruptly to ascer¬ 
tain how Marcia was taking it; she was watching him 
apathetically, wondering how much of his exultant en¬ 
thusiasm was really warranted. He thought she was en¬ 
joying it. “With Dumont and Folsom gone we stand in 
a fair way of soon becoming the wealthiest people in 
town,” he continued. “I also have an option on the 
Folsom interest in the Waverly National. I can almost 
see my way clear to swing that deal, too.” His eyes 
burned with the greed of acquisition. He dropped heavily 
into a chair at his desk and began making figures on a 
sheet of paper. Marcia watched him for a while, then 
left him to himself. Eventually, without looking up, he 
said, “In a few years we’ll spend all the winters in 
Florida, won’t we, Marcia?” 

“Do you think so ?” 


BEYOND PARADISE 


211 


When her voice came from the far end of another room, 
he gazed about in surprise. She was reading an article on 
Adventures in Politics. 


Chapter XI 

Either Willets’ misgivings were groundless, or they had 
stimulated him and his colleagues into accomplishing a feat 
that was the envy of his rivals, the election having termi¬ 
nated favorably for him with a tremendous plurality. But 
there remained many problems to be worked out. Fol¬ 
lowing closely the lifting haze of the election battle, there 
was another conflict, in which office seekers and those 
who were afflicted with petty jealousies took part. The 
inter-party struggle had shifted and was developing into 
the usual contention within the party. 

But Willets was too cunning to jeopardize his prestige 
by openly taking a hand in factional strife, and he sat 
back amusedly, watching the favored, though over-abun¬ 
dant coterie haunting the successful candidate, who, 
through a desire to please all, and inexperience in this 
particular phase of politics, was plunging himself into a 
vortex of trouble by holding out hope, much of which was 
doomed to disappointment. Although frequently ap¬ 
pealed to, Willets went about unmindful while this horde 
was savagely in pursuit of the appointments they pre¬ 
sumed they were entitled to. The choice of any place 
in the cabinet was his, and until he had made his selection 
its formation must be deferred. 

Despite his apparent apathy, his influence was a domi¬ 
nating factor in determining the facies of the cabinet 
personnel. Although he feigned impartiality, he had a 
definite leaning, which did not escape the notice of the 
man he had elected, and the selections were made as nearly 
as possible in accordance with what he indicated as his 
preference. But when the many minor appointments were 
considered, he finally broke silence and suggested Marcia’s 
name for one of them, though she had told him it was 
not her intention to seek an office as compensation for 
what she had done. Willets was writing to her frequently, 
attempting to persuade her to accept some kind of recom- 
212 


BEYOND PARADISE 


213 


pense, insisting that she must at least consider what he 
was offering her. She did consider, seriously, after which 
she found that to decline an official position in Washing¬ 
ton was a far more difficult task than accepting it. She 
thought of her promise to Blake to refrain from further 
political campaigning. Then a happy thought came to 
her; this would not be a speaking tour, and it was that 
she had promised to forsake. This was something vastly 
different. In fact, there was no comparison between the 
two. A man like her husband, who valued publicity as 
highly as he did, should certainly not object to her at¬ 
tempt to advance herself. It was just as logical for her 
to presume this as it was for him to devote his best energy 
to business outside of his profession without remonstrance 
from her. Even if her aspirations did not meet with his 
approval, he could make concessions as she had in the 
past. 

She would ask him; she would be mild about it, but 
ready to defend herself if he objected. Of late she had 
developed a restlessness that could not be controlled. It 
was yet a long time before the evening hour when Blake 
would come home. Her anxiety made minutes seem like 
hours, so, to while away the time, she went downtown. 
When she returned Blake had not yet arrived, but came 
an hour later, carrying a long carton of flowers under 
his arm. 

“I saw the dandiest mums at Wasmer’s as I came past,” 
said he, giving Marcia the box, ‘‘so I got some for you. 
See if you like them. They’re a new kind. A hybrid, so 
I was told.” 

As soon as he had given Marcia the flowers he busied 
himself removing his gloves and coat and hat. He was 
feeling guilty. But Marcia had not noticed him, as he 
feared she had, when he casually met Phyllis on the street 
that evening and had driven her home. The day was cold 
^nd Marcia had taken out Mrs. Folsom’s electric—to keep 
* limbered up, as Mrs. Folsom had suggested—and she 
was driving past when Blake was helping Phyllis into his 
car. 

“How—unusually—thoughtful—of—you,” said Marcia 
slowly, untying the box, puzzled over his actions. As she 


214 


BEYOND PARADISE 


raised the flowers out of the waxed paper, she added, “I’m 
awfully glad you came past Wasmer’s, Don. These are 
beautiful.” 

“Uh-huh. They’re the best I’ve seen this year.” 

“What kind did you say they are ?” 

“They’re hybrids,” he replied simply. 

“Hybrids?” 

“Yes. I don’t think they have any particular name.” 

Then he became absorbed in the evening paper. Marcia 
secured water in a large vase and was very deliberate 
while cutting the stems of the dozen chrysanthemums and 
arranging them. This done, she pretended to find in¬ 
terest in some music she had purchased, but her depres¬ 
sion overcame her pretense and she went over to where 
Blake was reading, seating herself on the arm of his chair, 
sighing heavily when her presence failed to distract his 
attention from an account of a government investigation. 
Over his shoulder she read the article he was interested 
in. When she had finished, he was apparently as deeply 
engrossed as he was when she approached him. 

“Have you been busy today?” she inquired tentatively. 

He looked up, startled. It was one of her former usual 
questions—one she had not asked for more than two 
years. Was it possible that after all the old trend of 
things was returning, those days when they could be in 
harness other than tandem and do splendid team work? 
He brightened, even if it was with forlorn hope. 

“I’ve had a very full day,” he replied. 

“I like to hear you say that. Nothing else gives me 
quite the same assurance that you’re content.” 

“Was kept on one big jump all day long,” he continued. 
“Have been plumb swamped.” 

It was the passionate way he had of expressing himself 
when speaking of his growing practice that had long since 
caused Marcia to discontinue her inspiring curiosity in 
his ever-increasing medical and surgical following; but 
tonight she was inclined to encourage it. 

“You’re wonderful, Don, dear,” she said, her praise 
sounding a little unnatural. “Your medical practice has 
grown year by year. It has never stood still or gone back. 


BEYOND PARADISE 215 

That explains the kind of service you’re giving. That’s 
why you are so successful.” 

“There was a time when you often talked that way, 
Marcia,” he said uneasily, unable to shake off a feeling 
of culpability because he had driven Phyllis home. “You 
haven’t for a long time. Why haven’t you?” 

“I just did,” she replied sweetly, smoothing his hair 
with loving strokes. “Didn’t I, my dear?” 

“Yes, I know, but you do it so seldom that it doesn’t 
sound genuine any more.” 

“It’s genuine enough,” she said, looking down at him. 
“If you knew how much I love you, dearest, you’d know 
everything I say to you comes from my heart. Of course, 
if you don’t want to believe it’s genuine I can’t help it. 
It isn’t that—” 

“Now I’ve kicked things over again,” he hastened to 
apologize. “Too much work and too little play frays the 
nerves. Some day I’m going to get away from this in¬ 
cessant grind.” 

“I’m doing that next week.” 

“You are?” 

“Yes,” she said lightly. “I’m going to Washington.” 

“You are going to Washington?” 

“You don’t object to that, do you?” 

He meant to rebel, but he had tried such tactics with¬ 
out success. After all, he could see no harm in her mak¬ 
ing a trip to Washington. 

“No,” he consented agreeably. “I have nothing against 
a trip like that for you—if it’s arranged so you’ll get some 
benefit from it.” 

“It’s going to mean a lot to me,” Marcia assured him. 
“To hold an office in Washington is bound to—” 

“You take an office in Washington?” Blake interrupted 
her severely. “You must be losing your mind!” 

She got up hurriedly. “Not precisely.” 

“Well, then, what are you talking about, you going to 
Washington to live as if we were permanently separated ?” 

“That is what suffrage for women does.” 

“Marcia, do you realize what you are saying? You 
can’t. You must give up your plans; in justice to you and 
myself, I can’t allow you to do anything like that. I 


216 


BEYOND PARADISE 


won’t let you have your way this time. It would be—” 
Suddenly he caught himself. What would it gain him to 
rave? “You know it would be wrong of you to desert 
me the way you propose to do,” he concluded weakly. 
“Now, don’t you?” 

“Men do it when they are elected or appointed to an 
office,” she retorted. “Wives either stay at home or are 
resigned enough to accompany their husbands like sub¬ 
ordinates! Why don’t you go with me?” 

“You know that’s impossible.” 

“Then I’m going alone.” 

Blake remained silent for a minute. He was meditating 
uneasily. “Well, all right,” he said, after a while, “go 
alone.” 

******** 

The remaining days of that week found Marcia making 
extensive preparations for her jaunt to Washington. Be¬ 
cause she intended remaining away only a short time, just 
long enough to learn something about the official position 
Willets had offered her, it seemed to Blake that she was 
equipping herself disproportionately. The abundant, ex¬ 
acting, detailed arrangements puzzled him. As he con¬ 
tinued to watch her, he was more and more inclined to 
believe that her plans included a wider scope than the 
mere ascertaining of the nature of her duties if she ac¬ 
cepted the appointment. He had had a horror of her 
leaving him before he knew of her intention to do so; 
this seemed to be just an opportunity to depart on the 
pretext of attending to a business matter, when she 
actually had a separation in mind. She could be far away 
before anyone became aware of her real intent, removed 
from the gossip her action was certain to provoke. It 
was cleverly arranged to spare herself ignominy. 

“Just what is the purport of this trip?” he eventually 
asked. “At this time? I would like to know. . . . 

The new administration does not go in until March.” 

“I have told you, my dear,” she retorted with patient 
seriousness, “there are a few things I wish to investigate 
before accepting Mr. Willets’ offer. I want to be sure 
the position merits my acceptance.” 

He stared dolefully at a large handbag Pansy was pack- 


BEYOND PARADISE 


217 


ing. The maid, ultimately finding it necessary to crush 
the carefully arranged contents closer together to make 
more room, while Marcia was constantly finding one more 
thing that must be included, looked up at him with im¬ 
ploring eyes. He got down and helped her rearrange it. 
Then, when at last everything was packed, and Marcia 
requested the maid to buckle the bag and carry it out, he 
did it for her. When he came back he said, “I’ve been 
trying to figure out how much compensation you’d demand 
for your services if you were accepting that Washington 
appointment as the means of a livelihood.” 

‘Tt’s not a question of recompense,” she answered 
quickly, perceptibly perturbed. “I have my prestige to 
consider.” 

Blake scowled. “I don’t think I understand you,” he 
said. “Your prestige?” 

“I’ve told you,” she stated pertinently, “it’s a business 
matter that is taking me there. One I cannot avoid.” 

“That isn’t it,” he disagreed. “You’re not the kind of 
person who loses sleep over a business obligation. You’re 
afflicted with a peculiar malady, for which the prognosis 
is very unfavorable.” 

She scoffed at the assertion. “What a terrible thing it 
would be if I should infect others with the singular dis¬ 
ease !” 

“You are not its sole victim,” he explained. “I feel it 
myself at times, but reason helps me to control it.” 

“How interesting,” she returned sarcastically. “Go on 
and tell me more about this new discovery of yours, 
please.” 

It occurred to Blake that she was jesting over his dis¬ 
comfiture. “Well, you’re too dissatisfied for me to worry 
over you any longer,” he drawled, yawning. “Do what 
you want! Have your own way!” 

She laughed coldly, a habit she had very recently ac¬ 
quired. “You poor fellow,” she said, going over to him 
and putting her arm around him. He tried to twist him¬ 
self free. She pretended not to notice, and when he 
suddenly started for the clothes closet at the end of the 
corridor, she accompanied him, “You shouldn’t expect 


2 l8 


BEYOND PARADISE 


me to be different from other people,” she continued. 
‘‘Still my actions seem to worry you. Why is that?” 

“Oh, hum,” he said, putting on his coat. “Life’s too 
short to chew the rag.” 

His indifference irritated her. 

“I hope you’ll recover from your apathy during my 
absence,” she said. “I believe I bore you.” 

“It isn’t so much you who is disturbing me,” he told 
her, patting her cheek. “My business has been weighing 
me down lately, and the two—” He paused uncertainly. 
“I don’t even remember why I’m worrying.” Then, put¬ 
ting on his hat and gloves, he added, “I’ve got to keep 
hustling.” He gave her a brief kiss and another pat on 
the cheek and hurried toward the door. “It’ll probably 
be late before I get home tonight,” he called back. 
******** 

Upon her arrival in Washington, Marcia tried to feel 
she was in her element, but it was not long until factional 
hatred singled her out and trouble began. She became 
shockingly aware how uncomfortable a manifestly likable 
place can be. It was forcibly brought to her attention 
that the attempt to squeeze herself in somewhere outside 
of her realm was a mistake. The objectionable actions 
of a few malcontents influenced her against the entire 
population of Washington, for she had aspired to higher 
ideals than these people considered a proper standard to 
live by. Of course, a certain few of the Washington 
residents belonged to the usual exceptions. There was 
Lyman Curtis; he must necessarily be regarded as exotic 
to this maelstrom of humanity that was depending on 
cunning to net sufficient returns to round out a life of 
indolence. For Curtis came from Williston, was her 
sweetheart in days gone by, and was holding his official 
position more as an act of benevolence—as Willets was 
urging her to do—than for the reimbursement he was 
receiving. 

Then there was Harry Willets, too new in the capital 
to have acquired bad habits. He was independently well- 
to-do, so it was obvious that he was indeed not hazarding 
the tranquillity of his bachelor life for the pittance his 
office was bringing him. It was possible that a few others 


BEYOND PARADISE 


219 


belonged in this accepted category, but careful scrutiny 
of those who frequented the most imposing hotels in the 
city revealed nothing that would substantiate such a belief. 
None had the qualifications of her two acquaintances. 
Nor did it seem that a search the world over could pro¬ 
duce their equal. 

That was Marcia’s first impression of Washington. It 
was only natural that a feeling of repugnance should over¬ 
take her after her somewhat casual reception by strangers 
in a strange place. She had not been in the political game 
long enough to be accustomed to the disagreeable part of 
it, and she pondered long and petulantly over the un¬ 
pleasantness to which she was being subjected. 

Then, very unexpectedly, there came the beginning of 
gaities and adulations such as she had not anticipated. At 
first, when their party consisted of four—Mrs. Folsom, 
who was looking over Washington with a view of making 
it her home, Curtis, Willets, and herself—Marcia had 
lamented inwardly that their diversions were indeed tame 
enough. But after someone suggested that they invite 
others to join them, there was no longer anything to 
bemoan. 

Marcia, always progressive but discriminating, indi¬ 
cated her desire to rub elbows with society. This was 
easily accomplished through Willets’ influence and Curtis’ 
acquaintance, and Washington now revealed itself as a 
place where society is not altogether composed of stiff- 
backed clothes models. She was surprised at the ex¬ 
tremely good entertainers that abounded among what she 
at first considered alabaster personalities. And as there 
is no closed season on the idle in Washington, the class 
Marcia came in contact with, though her acquaintances 
also included a large number of seriously inclined folks, 
she was in a constant whirl of gaiety. This pleased 
her. It was a life that soon became as satisfying to her 
as the humdrum routine of Waverly had been wearying. 

For Marcia to express a wish to Willets was to realize 
its fulfilment, if such was within his power. Marcia was 
one to whom he had never yet made a careless promise. 
He had won her admiration by quietly going about and 
providing what she desired, and he made himself still more 


220 


BEYOND PARADISE 


solid with her when she was invited to a really important 
social function, the forerunner of affairs to indicate who 
is in the select seasonal circle. 

The entertainment in question was a reception given in 
the ballroom at the hotel where Marcia and Mrs. Folsom 
lived, to Congressman Crosby, from Marcia’s home state, 
who had been married early the past summer and had just 
returned with his bride after touring Europe. Many not¬ 
able functionaries were there, most of them coldly in¬ 
different to Marcia’s presence. Then she encountered 
Senator Soulsberry, the man who had awed her so at the 
convention, and whom she had regarded as a personage 
with tremendous influence in the social life of Washing¬ 
ton. He seemed now disappointing. She was angry with 
herself because he had succeeded in misleading her so 
utterly at the convention, for here he was the perennial 
joke, trying to get on the inside. In his ability to win the 
senatorial election and getting on important committees, 
he was admirable. He employed this bewildering power 
quite effectively to compel the elite to be tolerant toward 
him, though he was regarded as a social tyro. Marcia 
only acknowledged her acquaintance with him because he 
came from Vermont, for his monopolizing affability was 
a source of embarrassment to her and of amusement to 
the rest of her crowd. 

“I understand you are about to establish your residence 
here, Mrs. Blake,” he observed with deep concern. 

Probably Willets had nudged him, for he broke off 
abruptly and turned to Willets, who was frowning at him. 

“She has not yet decided definitely,” Willets enlightened 
him. 

“I thought, perhaps, she had. Anyway, what’s the harm 
of speaking about it—privately ?” 

Soulsberry had again committed the thing that had 
made him unpopular socially and feared politically. All 
of his associates and even his closest friends thought of 
him as being “mouthy.” 

“I’m still undecided, Mr. Soulsberry,” Marcia said 
primly. 

Then she shot a glance at Willets. If he must tell 
someone, why tell Soulsberry? Her steady gaze of dis- 


BEYOND PARADISE 


221 


pleasure caused him to be very uncomfortable, making 
him want to strangle Soulsberry. 

“Senator Soulsberry is acting in an advisory capacity 
on appointments,” Willets explained, trying to appease 
Marcia. “He knows the names of the appointees as far 
as they have been decided upon.” 

“Even in that case, I don’t see the necessity of adver¬ 
tising my plans!” she objected sternly. 

“Indeed not,” Soulsberry assented, a little nervous as 
he perched his pince-nez on the point of his thumb. “I’ve 
told you a secret,” he added, with a vindicating after¬ 
thought. “Very few are thus privileged so early. I 
assure you, I spoke with the best intentions.” 

“I might decline the offer, which would make it appear 
that you were misinformed,” Marcia continued, relenting 
somewhat when Soulsberry showed concern over her dis¬ 
pleasure. “And since I won’t have anything like that, 
you have almost compelled me to accept.” 

“You haven’t thought of not accepting?” Soulsberry 
asked. 

“Yes. The general attitude here tonight has discour¬ 
aged me.” 

“What attitude?” Willets wanted to know. 

“Oh, everything!” 

“I thought you were enjoying yourself. What has gone 
wrong ?” 

Soulsberry, like Willets, was a bachelor, but older and 
probably of a keener intuition with respect to women. He 
knew that right now Marcia was in a petulant frame of 
mind, and if he remained a tiff was imminent. A far-off 
gaze and a nod was his pretense that he had business 
somewhere across the room. 

“You fight it out with Mr. Willets,” was his parting 
shot. “He’s to blame. He should have informed me.” 

Willets looked after Soulsberry in silence until he had 
merged with the crowd on the opposite side of the room. 

“The mouthy fool!” he muttered. 

“Don’t excite yourself over a senator,” Marcia soothed 
him. “Although he irritates me, he really is the least 
of my worries.” 

“Then what is wrong?” 


222 


BEYOND PARADISE 


“I think I’ll go home tomorrow.” 

“Oh, Marcia, don’t say that! Don’t talk about going 
home before you’ve had some fun. It’s just beginning. 
You’ve got everybody raving about you.” 

“I’ve been enjoying myself,” she admitted, “but I can’t 
any longer—” 

“Yes, you can. You are—” 

Marcia checked him with an impatient wave of her 
hand. “How can I when I’m worying about Don?” she 
demanded despondently. “I’ve written to him every day 
since I came here and he has failed to answer a single one 
of my letters.” 

“Mrs. Folsom has a letter for you,” Willets informed 
her. “She asked me to tell you about it. I’m glad you 
reminded me. I think she said it was from Blake.” 

“Let us see if we can find her—quickly.” 

“I think she is in the coffee room. She joined Senator 
Burkett and they went that way.” 

They started for the coffee room. Mrs. Folsom was 
chatting vivaciously with the widowed young senator when 
they came in. Marcia hastened over to her. 

“Here is the letter you’ve been waiting for,” said Mrs. 
Folsom when Marcia approached her. “Special delivery, 
too. I brought it down with me, knowing how anxious 
you were to have it.” 

The letter was from Blake, though the address, written 
in his hand, was peculiar. To receive a special delivery 
letter after days of disappointment and apprehension made 
Marcia’s face turn white. Burkett fetched a chair for 
her, but she remained standing while she read. Reading 
the letter made her breath come easier and her heart 
lighter. When she had finished and looked up, the peach- 
blow tint returning to her cheeks and lips. Then, folding 
the letter and tucking it away, she sat down. When 
Willets looked at her inquiringly, she said airily, “I don’t 
care to eat, but I want to do something amusing. The 
music is entrancing. Come, Harry, let’s dance.” They 
got up and glided away gracefully. When they were out 
of hearing distance from Mrs. Folsom, she spoke again. 
“I’m going to surprise you.” 

“You are! How?” 


BEYOND PARADISE 


223 


“I’m going to accept the position you have reserved 
for me.” 

He made no comment, but indicated his approval by 
holding her closer to him. 

******** 

After that Marcia settled down to a routine of luxurious 
and delightful living. The only obstacle that had stood in 
the way of enjoyment had been removed, for she was 
hearing regularly from Blake now. In all of his letters 
he begged her not to hurry home because of him; he 
wanted her to remain and enjoy herself to the utmost. 
Nor did he give her occasion to ask him for money to 
defray her lavish expenditure, because every letter she 
received from him was heavy with it. No one ever tried 
to get ahead in Washington under more favorable condi¬ 
tions. 

Her conciliatory and pleasing demeanor rapidly gained 
friends for her, and she was forever inviting people to 
visit her in Waverly—to come to her home the following 
summer. And everybody was coming; in fact, the list of 
acceptances had become so long that the thought of having 
to entertain so many people terrified her. 

Sometimes we do things we did not intend to do. We 
play around the fire, as it were, till we get burned. This 
was precisely what had happened to Marcia. Irrepressibly 
progressive, always viewing possibilities with enthusiasm, 
quick to comprehend what a dawning opportunity had to 
offer, she had labored incessantly to lure as many as she 
could to Waverly. This, at first only an idle resolve, had 
now developed such a forceful momentum that it ap¬ 
palled her. When she could no longer alone bear the 
mental agony of her folly, she appealed to Mrs. Folsom, 
in whose resourcefulness she still had unlimited confi¬ 
dence. 

“Eve done something foolish,” she confessed. 

“If you have,” said Mrs. Folsom dubiously, “it’s the 
first time in your life that you ever did.” 

Marcia laughed ruefully. “I’m not as infallible as that. 
The fact is, I’m disgusted with myself. Don says I’m 
impulsive; he says that I fly at a notion but seldom do 
the things I really want to do. I believe he is right. Then, 


224 


BEYOND PARADISE 


too, I think I’m over-decisive. You know what I mean. 
It’s hard for me to follow a happy medium in anything.” 

Mrs. Folsom roused herself to deeper concern over 
Marcia’s self-consciousness regarding her defects. “What 
have you done that’s so terrible ?” she asked. 

Marcia replied with an effort. “I’ve invited scores of 
people to visit me next summer.” 

“And everybody has declined your invitation?” asked 
the other even more woefully. 

“You’re wrong. Everyone has accepted!” 

“Isn’t that fine,” chimed her companion. “I knew 
you’d make a hit.” 

“Yes,” retorted Marcia, the responsibility weighing 
heavily on her, “it’s just about knocked me out.” 

Mrs. Folsom laid her hand consolingly on Marcia’s arm. 
“Don’t you worry, dearie,” she comforted her. “There’ll 
be a way out of it. There always is. . . . In what 

way are you falling short?” 

Marcia looked up thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t worry if 
I had a house like yours to take them to. What will these 
people think when they find me living in a prosaic little 
cottage ?” 

“You’re right. That’s something to think about.” 

Marcia got up and crossed over to the window, where 
she remained gazing down into the wide street. Mrs. 
Folsom sat down again in her chair, but she made no 
further comment. 

“I don’t know what to do,” said Marcia at length. 

“It’s possible,” began Mrs. Folsom, attempting to 
lighten Marcia’s burden, “that most of them accepted your 
invitation merely to please you and have no intention of 
ever coming to Waverly.” 

“I’ve thought of that,” returned the other pensively. 
“But I must be prepared for the unexpected.” 

“Yes, I think you should be,” agreed Mrs. Folsom. 
“You are safe in expecting at least a few of the old fossils 
to stop when they pass through.” 

“No one of importance ever passes through Waverly 
accidentally. They either come there for a purpose or 
they don’t come at all.” 


BEYOND PARADISE 


225 


“Well, take my word, a few of these promised visitors 
are going to be on hand next summer” 

“I hope not!” 

“There must be a way out of this. Let me think a 
moment.” 

“All right. Think hard. ... I can’t.” 

Mrs. Folsom became serious. Then she said, “I have 
it. Why don’t you buy my house?” 

“I buy your house!” cried Marcia mockingly “Why, 
you’re suggesting the impossible!” 

“Oh, well, you know what I mean when I say you. Be 
nice to Don and he’ll buy it for your birthday present. 
Nothing is impossible.” 

“That’s out of the question. Don told me just before 
I left home that he couldn’t assume another financial obli¬ 
gation of any consequence this year. . . . How much 

do you want for your house?” 

“There you are, worrying about the price, my dear— 
with a shrewd financier like Don for a husband. He may 
not be telling you about it, but, believe me, he’s making 
a mint of money, or the letters you get daily from him 
wouldn’t be bulging like a puffadder.” 

Mrs. Folsom was really anxious to dispose of her 
property, having decided never to go back to Waverly to 
live, and she could think of no one as financially able to 
buy the place as Blake. 

Marcia wondered if it was worth the effort. A large 
house meant a great amount of work, more than she cared 
to worry over, and it was very doubtful if Blake was 
willing to employ the number of servants required to keep 
it in order. Deep within her stirred a strong response to 
Mrs. Folsom’s offer, even if it meant the loss of a neigh¬ 
bor who had become almost a necessity. 

“What will you do when you sell your house?” she 
asked. 

“I am going to live here—here in Washington. I like 
this place.” 

Marcia sighed, her heart already heavy with loneliness; 
but if Mrs. Folsom was going to make Washington her 
home she was not losing her altogether—not for a while. 

“I’m going home next week,” she said. “Will you go 


226 


BEYOND PARADISE 


along to help me persuade Don to buy your house? You 
see, I still need you.” 

‘Til go if you promise to keep after Don until he makes 
the purchase.” 

‘Til do my best.” 

“Then I’m going.” 

sic******* 

A week after Marcia’s departure for Washington, 
Blake was called to Phyllis’ home to attend Gracie. He 
had not seen Phyllis for some time, not since the evening 
when he had taken her home and he had bought the 
chrysanthemums for Marcia. She alluded to it in a casual 
way. 

“You hurried away so quickly the last time you were 
here,” she pouted. “I wanted you to examine the baby. 
Gracie thinks he has adenoids.” 

Blake, after attending Gracie, let himself down heavily 
into a deep chair by the stove. He was recklessly extrava¬ 
gant with his time tonight. 

“Where is he? I’ll look at him now. . . . Oh, he’s 

asleep. Well, don’t awaken him. I can wait. . . . 

What’s the trouble with your eye?” he asked. 

Phyllis’ eye was inflamed. 

“I don’t know,” she said, touching it. “It began pain¬ 
ing just this evening.” 

He got up. “Come over here to the light. I want to 
look at it.” 

Phyllis obeyed reluctantly. 

“I don’t think it’s serious enough to require medical 
attention,” she argued mildly. 

Blake disregarded her protest, took hold of her arm and 
pulled her nearer the light. “Now hold still.” 

He turned the upper lid of her eye over a match, on 
which he had rolled some cotton, and inspected the slightly 
inflamed surface. 

She drew away instinctively. “That hurts!” she pro¬ 
tested. 

“You have a marked case of conjunctivitis,” he snapped 
a diagnosis, again disregarding her protest. He released 
her for a moment while he secured a dropper and dipped 
it in a solution in a vial. “Now this won’t hurt,” he as- 


BEYOND PARADISE 


227 


sured her. When she flinched as he dropped the medicine 
in the inflamed eye, he said laughingly, “You’re scared. 
I know you didn’t even feel that.” 

“Yes, I did.” 

“Just the coolness of the solution, perhaps.” 

“Possibly.” 

“Your eyes look badly.” 

“What is conjunctivitis?” 

“It’s an infectious condition of the mucous surface of 
the lids,” he explained elaborately. “The prognosis de¬ 
pends on the nature of the infection. If it is very viru¬ 
lent it may terminate seriously. The only way to deter¬ 
mine that would be to make a cultural growth of the dis¬ 
charge and later a microscopic examination of the growth. 
In a case like this, however, it is best to save time and 
institute active treatment at once. I’ll telephone to 
Rook’s and have them bring over a prescription.” 

The medicine arrived almost instantly. Blake instilled 
a few drops in the affected eye. He had now won her 
confidence completely, and his erstwhile rudeness had 
become a touch of deft gentleness and reassurance, mak¬ 
ing him her master. 

Phyllis’ boy had awaked in the meantime. 

“Don’t you worry over his health,” said Blake after a 
cursory examination of the child’s throat. “He’s as sound 
as any youngster I know.” 

He threw himself idly on a lounge with the little fellow, 
finding interest in the jumbled sentences he was per¬ 
sistently concocting. Gracie groaned, and Phyllis, re¬ 
sponding instinctively, hurried to her room, turning the 
light up slightly, and then turning it down again. For 
some time she remained watching the colored girl in the 
dimness of the turned-down lamp. 

“She’s asleep,” she whispered when she came back on 
tiptoe. “It’s the first sleep she’s had in two nights.” 

Blake raised a cautioning finger. The child, still cling¬ 
ing to a pamphlet over which he had been intensely con¬ 
cerned, was unable, in spite of fighting tenaciously against 
it, to keep sleep away any longer. Phyllis took the boy 
up in her arms. In doing so, she incidentally grasped 
Blake’s hand; he rose with her. 


228 


BEYOND PARADISE 


“How easy it is to—” 

There he paused, as awkwardly as only Blake could 
pause. He had caught himself saying something he knew 
could not end as easily as it was said; he had begun to 
express his love for her with a sincerity that appalled him. 
Phyllis did not wait for him to continue; she hurriedly 
carried the baby to his bed, lingering to look after his 
comfort. 

Blake was given time to think. The gravity of what he 
had intended to say grew even clearer to him now; he 
was not unscrupulous, for if he had been, he might have 
allowed himself to believe that it was an infatuation that 
was causing him to entertain a thought of love for Phyllis. 
He could not bring himself to again tell this woman that 
he loved her without realizing the full truth of his utter¬ 
ance, a thing that would be wholly unjust to both her and 
Marcia. When he perceived that he had been on the 
verge of committing something odiously wicked, he 
wanted to hasten away, never to return to that peculiarly 
alluring little house. If he were to tell her what his 
feelings were prompting him to say, the incident could 
easily develop into something more than a mere postlude 
to a professional call. It would be the positive turning 
of the way, and as such he had to consider it. 

It had been different when he had told her months be¬ 
fore that he loved her. Although at that time he wanted 
to be decent in his conduct toward her, he realized the 
gross falsity of his utterance even while he was speaking. 
It was not long before his ardor had cooled sufficiently 
to make him see the whole thing in the light of an at¬ 
tempted dissipation, such as people are liable to seek when 
life becomes unbearably dull. That was not love, and 
he knew it. 

But this time he was certain enough of his emotion to 
regard the situation with profound apprehension. He had 
turned the matter over in his mind for weeks, at first not 
certain in which direction his desires were pointing, but 
they were no longer problematical. He knew that if he 
allowed himself to give full sway to the beckoning within 
him, there would be no room left in his heart for Marcia 
when she returned, the place that belonged to her entirely. 


BEYOND PARADISE 


22 9 


She was still his wife; he could never get away from the 
poignancy of that fact. His responsibility toward her 
was further substantiated by the fact that she had de¬ 
voted the best years of her life to him, even though at 
times she had been a little negligent about his welfare. 
But he was aware that his own shortcomings very effec¬ 
tively counterbalanced any of hers. 

“I must go,” he said when Phyllis came back, clumsily 
putting on his overcoat. 

She did not ask him to remain. He had hoped she 
would. 

“How shall Gracie take her medicine?” she asked. 

He fumbled through his pockets and finally succeeded 
in securing his prescription pad. 

“I’ll write the orders.” 

Minute after minute passed as the rasping of the 
pencil continued without interruption. It seemed in¬ 
credible that so much could be written on such a small 
piece of paper. When he had finished, he watched 
Phyllis while tearing the sheet from the pad. She was 
arranging the medicine in the order that she had memo¬ 
rized it. He gave her the paper without a word, but 
waited to ascertain if she could read what he had written. 

“Gracie is headstrong,” said Phyllis when she had de¬ 
ciphered the peculiar script, “but I’ll see to it that these 
orders are carried out.” 

“I know you will. Good night.” 

“Good night.” 

He went to the door and a moment later it closed on 
him. 

******** 

When Marcia returned home some time later, Blake 
was under the domination of the same guilty conscience 
that had troubled him when he purchased the chrysanthe¬ 
mums. His attentions were so profuse that anyone with 
a temperament less variable than Marcia’s would have 
been bored by them. She received them as a matter-of- 
fact, though they were something entirely new on his 
part. She presumed that it was possible that maturity 
was mellowing him. She rather expected Blake to be 
unusually attentive to her because she had trained herself 


230 


BEYOND PARADISE 


—or had her recent environment trained her?—to be 
regarded with indulgence, whether she merited it or not. 
Nevertheless, it was highly gratifying to see him exerting 
himself to please her, more than he had even during 
the first years after their marriage. 

But Blake was working toward a certain point with a 
definite purpose—reunion. He and Marcia must be re¬ 
united if they were to continue to live in the same house¬ 
hold. A mere better understanding would not suffice. 
Their marital relations had proceeded so far into diver¬ 
gent channels that it required something more tangible 
than dainty dishes and the radiance of an alluring fireside 
to bring them together again. He often recalled with 
regret the unpardonable mistake he had committed when 
Marcia attended the convention. Although there had been 
no visible deleterious effects, his medical experience was 
such that he understood how a philosophic mind like 
Marcia’s could for the time calmly pass by an infraction 
of that kind and still store it away subconsciously for 
future reference. 

It was by no means pure indifference that made Marcia 
carefree; it was her great confidence in Blake that made 
her so, and she would have been insanely jealous had she 
suspected he had designs on someone outside his home. 
She was so perfectly happy that she interpreted all of his 
actions as an indication that he was content with the way 
things were. His spasmodic irritability she attributed to 
the weight of his professional and business responsibili¬ 
ties. Their life was apparently one of negligent content. 
It was this trust that blinded her with respect to the pro¬ 
tean occurrences that were transpiring before her very 
eyes. 

After several days of ultra-subservience on the part 
of Blake, Marcia was encouraged to proceed with the 
business that was uppermost in her mind. Mrs. Folsom, 
after a reception which convinced her that after all she 
was really popular in Waverly, was showing signs of 
faltering over the offer she had made Marcia. It made 
Marcia anxious to have Mrs. Folsom open negotiations 
with Blake and bring the matter to a conclusion before 
changing her mind. 


BEYOND PARADISE 231 

‘‘How has your business been lately, Don?” she began 
when she felt the time was right. “You look tired.” 

“My practice is increasing every day,” he informed 
her. “I’m thinking of employing two technicians for the 
clinical and X-ray laboratories. Worth has been swamped 
with work and it was necessary to give him an assistant.” 
He now assumed an attitude of great importance and 
added, “Have I told you that I’m limiting myself to 
surgery and consultation?” 

“You haven’t!” 

“Yes, that’s what I’m doing.” 

“My! My! Think of the really wonderful progress 
you are making!” 

He spoke suddenly. “Spending this winter in Florida 
sounds pretty good to me, Marcia. Both of us need a 
rest and we deserve a good time. There’s no use of 
making a lot of money if we don’t get any enjoyment 
out of it.” 

This was her opportunity. 

“Don’t you think, Don,” she hastened to suggest, “that 
we should plan for a new home also—to go with the rest?” 

“You mean build?” 

“Not necessarily. We could buy.” 

“Where is there anything in this town you’d have?” 

“Mrs. Folsom’s house would suit me.” 

“She won’t sell.” 

“She told me she would.” 

“You talked to her about it?” 

“Yes.” 

This staggered him. He wondered where she got her 
tremendous ideas. Yet he had often hoped that some day 
he might be financially able to own that beautiful house. 
But when Folsom had purchased it a few years ago for 
close to one hundred thousand dollars he realized the 
folly of his dream. Even now, after years of business 
and professional success, he could not finance such a huge 
investment. 

“Think of the work and care and worry a place like 
that involves. And I’m quite certain Mrs. Folsom doesn’t 
care to sell. In fact, I know she doesn’t,” he discouraged 
her. 


232 


BEYOND PARADISE 


Marcia wondered what made him so positive. “Did 
she speak to you about it?” 

“No.” 

“Well, she came with me from Washington for the sole 
purpose of selling us her house,” she explained. “Your 
word is all that is necessary to close the deal.” 

Her determination made Blake aware of a cowardly 
nervousness for the first time in his life. What was she 
attempting? What was her motive? Was she trying to 
ruin him? He shuddered at the thought, for it was 
Marcia who was asking it, and Marcia could have no evil 
designs. 

“If you’ve gone that far,” he said, after a silent resume 
of his financial status, “tell her we’ll buy.” 

******** 

The Blakes eventually came into possession of the 
magnificent stone house standing on a dominating emi¬ 
nence on the north edge of town. A few years ago the 
place had been the center of social activities of the super¬ 
cilious Dumonts, who had spent nearly a million to make 
droll Waverly a suitable place for them to live in. The 
house itself represented no small part of this prodigious 
expenditure. It had been built as the result of two 
separate stimuli: one came from the great manufacturer 
himself, the other from Mrs. Dumont. Through it Du¬ 
mont proposed to impress the results of his accomplish¬ 
ments on envious competitors, while his wife had visions 
of becoming a successful society woman through the 
prestige gained as a hostess. They had been very success¬ 
ful up to the time when their son became an invalid, but 
after that they lost interest in society and no longer chal¬ 
lenged business competition. Instead, they began travel¬ 
ing, seeking relief for their crippled child. 

Before the time of Folsom and Blake, Waverly had 
known only one real business captain—Dumont. He was 
one of the few men who have been conspicuously success¬ 
ful as manufacturers in small towns remote from the 
sources of raw materials required by their industry, and 
because of his tremendous income he had not hesitated 
to lavish money on a house that was really out of pro¬ 
portion with a place like Waverly. Folsom had been sue- 


BEYOND PARADISE 


233 


cessful in a varied way, but his untimely death made it 
impossible to fully gauge his cunning as a financier, while 
Blake was still a tyro, who was gorging himself with so 
many business transactions that he was gasping for 
breath, but showing that he possessed the acumen to 
surpass anything his predecessors had done. 

Coats was, as it were, thrown into the bargain, and 
when Blake took Marcia to look at the property soon after 
the purchase had been made, he greeted his new master 
and mistress with all the amiability that only Coats could 
display. As the old servant showed them through the 
house, Blake could see business advantages in the deal; 
his visions were much like Dumont’s had been when he 
built the place, for even now he had forgotten what had 
originally instigated him to buy it—the posibility that it 
would cement the strained relations between himself and 
Marcia. What had served Dumont in a business way 
was also worthy of his consideration. 

Marcia, too, had visions other than those that would 
increase the harmony of their home life. She could see 
shadows of past gay affairs all about her, a repetition of 
which she saw in the offing, except that instead of mer¬ 
chants and manufacturers, who came in hired hansom 
and barouche, her social affairs would be made up of 
politicians and artists and writers and other interesting 
folks who would arrive in sport-model automobiles and 
limousines. 

“I know I’ll like it here, Don,” she announced en¬ 
thusiastically. “Who wouldn’t? This will make my life 
complete. Think of the truly wonderful happiness we can 
build here.” 

“That sounds more like my Marcia,” he approved. 
“It’s encouraging to know Washington is not monopoliz¬ 
ing you entirely.” 

She smiled sweetly, having one thing in her mind while 
he had another. 

“I’ll give some elaborate parties. Some that will set 
the town wild,” she promised. 

“Uh-huh. I like parties,” he replied, having a few of 
his local friends in mind. “Let me see, who’ll we invite?” 

“Oh, you can have a party of your own. . . Some- 


234 


BEYOND PARADISE 


time . . . when I’m away .... a stag affair. 

You like those.” 

He wondered why she thought he liked stag affairs. 
He had never attended a stag party in his life, so it must 
be mere conjecture on her part. She was puzzling. A 
thought came to him that made him stare at her in aston¬ 
ishment. Could this mean that she proposed to exclude 
him when she entertained? That was it! He could see 
through it clearly enough. There was no longer any doubt 
in his mind as to the true circumstances. The die was 
cast for the complete disintegrating of their domestic 
felicity. He was sagacious enough to know that when 
the love of a woman like Marcia has passed it is gone 
forever. Sometimes, after a break like theirs, people are 
reconciled, by honor and obligation, but real love is usually 
wanting; and there is only one thing a waning love can 
end in—separation. He came face to face with the truth 
with a shudder. The very thought of divorce was re¬ 
pugnant to him. People he considered decent did not get 
divorces. He had always looked rather askance at men 
and women who were divorced, and he had therefore been 
willing to grant Marcia anything in the hope that it would 
bring about a reunion with her. 

“Yes, I think you’ll like this place,” he agreed, dazed. 
“And I want you to like it. I was afraid possibly you 
might still be dissatisfied.” 

“Why, Don, what makes you say that? You know that 
everything you do for me always pleases me.” 

“Then I wish you would show it.” 

His rather ambiguous retort made her furious. “Just 
what do you mean?” she demanded. 

“That we don’t understand each other. If we did—” 
He broke off abruptly and turned to face her squarely. 
She stared back at him. “Don’t you see what it means?” 

“Oh, dear me, yes!” 

******** 

The following winter was not spent in Florida, but in 
the usual in-and-out way at home. Blake granted all of 
Marcia’s wishes, though at times they had him at his wit’s 
end, besides involving him in such indebtedness that his 
solvency became questionable. This spurred him on to 


BEYOND PARADISE 


235 


greater efforts to secure the necessary funds to meet the 
increased expenditure, and he finally began worrying con¬ 
stantly over his pinched financial condition, making him 
less efficient in carrying on his business and professional 
duties. For a long time he succeeded in keeping this from 
Marcia, but when his creditors began harassing him it 
threw him into a state of irritability, and she ultimately 
became aware that he was distressed. She made herself 
easy by presuming this was due to the pressure of pro¬ 
fessional demands, glad to let it pass at that rather than 
go through the inconvenience of threshing it out with him. 

At present she was more interested in the big house 
than in anything else. After Coats and several expert 
decorators had worked for two weeks, the place was ready 
for occupancy. 

With the arrival of the vanguard of distinguished visi¬ 
tors—Senator Burkett, who went to the trouble of de¬ 
touring to Waverly while visiting at his home, and Souls- 
berry, en route to California, had called to see her— 
Marcia’s hopes took new life, expecting this beginning to 
develop into a series of formal entertainments such as 
Waverly had never before known. With such a program 
in mind, it became obvious that a staff of competent 
servants was an imperative necessity. So, to determine 
the number and kind required, she called in Coats for 
consultation. 

“Now, then, allow me to think a moment, Mrs. Blake,” 
said the faithful old servant. “I could tell you ofThand 
how much help is needed in this here—” 

“Be brief, please,” broke in Marcia. “Just name the 
different rooms. How many there are and so on. Begin 
in the basement and I’ll write them down.” 

“The supply storage and fuel bin and—” 

“Wait now,” she interrupted him again. “I don’t want 
to list those. Just give me the number of rooms in the 
servants’ sleeping quarters—and take your time. I want 
to add some memoranda and a few details.” 

“Seven rooms and three, four, five—” 

Coats was doubling his fingers as he counted, holding 
them crooked when he paused. Marcia was writing rap- 


236 BEYOND PARADISE 

idly, but Coats was not ready to go on when she had 
finished. 

“That isn’t all,” she said impatiently, looking up. 

“Now, then, let me see,” hesitated Coats, peering over 
her shoulder. “What have you there?” 

“I have those you named.” 

She was waiting eagerly for him to proceed. Coats 
was apparently in deep mental agitation, again counting 
desperately on his fingers. 

After a while he said, “Do you want me to numerate 
the closets and toilets and—” 

“That’ll do,” she excused him curtly. “I’ll do the check¬ 
ing up myself.” 

She started off to make a personal tour. When she 
had completed the list and alloted servants proportion¬ 
ately, she was shocked to find that according to her figures 
the payroll would include fourteen people. It staggered 
her. After much earnest endeavor she succeeded in nar¬ 
rowing it down to ten. Under compulsion of a restless 
conscience she cut it to eight. The number was still stag¬ 
gering, but her arbitrary reduction had already minimized 
the efficiency of a working force, and so, without further 
alterations, she took the list to Blake for his approval. 
It nonplussed him. Was she deliberately trying his pa¬ 
tience? He studied the list a long time. 

Then he concluded that if she was really testing his 
endurance he was going to show her he had an abundance 
of it to try. He secured his appointment book and cata¬ 
logued the capacity in which each servant was to serve; 
he pretended to appreciate the valuable time she had de¬ 
voted to the task of enumerating all of it, having taken 
the hint that his lack of interest in her affairs was dis¬ 
pleasing. For Blake, his discussion was very mild, but 
disapproval seemed to be a necessity with him. As if in 
adherence to his custom of commenting unfavorably 
whenever a proposition involved the expenditure of a con¬ 
siderable sum of money, he remarked blandly, “A lackey 
to assist chauffeur. What do you mean by that?” 

“A chauffeur is not adapted to catering to people as a 
lackey is. He will relieve the chauffeur of that responsi¬ 
bility.” 


BEYOND PARADISE 


237 


“We haven’t even got a chauffeur,” he persisted. 

“Well, the list shows that I’m thinking of hiring both.” 

“Couldn’t they be dispensed with?” 

Marcia frowned. “Not very easily. A chauffeur is a 
positive necessity, and there’ll be a multitude of things for 
the lackey to do besides look pretty. Why, I think his 
services will be invaluable, and his presence will make a 
decided hit whenever we have guests.” 

“Then you must be planning a new automobile, also?” 
Blake inquired with curious interest, visualizing his serv¬ 
iceable sixty-thousand-mile sedan. “Are you?” 

“Why, dear me, yes! We should buy at least two. But 
maybe we could get along with one more besides what 
we have.” 

“Your car has made far less mileage than mine. Can’t 
you make it do for another year?” 

“You know yourself, Don,” she retorted with positive 
conviction, “it would be inconsistent with the other things 
we’re doing to allow a five-car garage to stand empty or 
to occupy it with such contrivances as we have.” Then 
she launched into a discussion of automobiles. There 
seemed to be nothing she did not know about motive 
power, gas and oil economy, tires, balanced frame con¬ 
struction, the advantages of a limousine, landau, sedan, 
cabriolet, sport-roadster, and all the other models on the 
market. Her knowledge regarding things in which she 
had shown no apparent interest previously was a revela¬ 
tion to Blake. She concluded with this summary: “And 
you know we couldn’t have common, ordinary drivers for 
expensive, well-appointed cars such as we’ll buy. They 
might ruin them.” 

He wondered how this determined little person had 
planned things; but he avoided a lengthy discourse by not 
asking for details. He had grown accustomed to her 
progressive ideas. He was beginning to enjoy them im¬ 
mensely. Also her inconsequential chatter, her gaiety and 
light-heartedness, the enthusiastic planning for big events, 
were alluring to him. 

“All right,” he assented, “hire and buy all you need.” 


Chapter XII 

Late the following February, Marcia, accompanied by 
Mrs. Folsom, returned to Washington. Blake went about 
in a routine way to take them to the railway station in 
his own car. Although Marcia would have preferred to 
have him accompany her in her limousine, with a chauf¬ 
feur and a lackey to serve them, no objections were 
offered when she saw that he wanted to be courteous. He 
drove slowly to enable him to keep up a rapid-fire con¬ 
versation; now and then he perpetrated dry jests, and once 
he launched into a solemn expatiation of his own philoso¬ 
phy, about which there was nothing entertaining. 

Although they had left the house early, it was necessary 
to wait only a few minutes before the train came thunder¬ 
ing, creaking, wheezing up to the depot. A varied array 
of people poured out of the low brick building and moved 
toward the waiting train. Farmers and laborers mingled 
with pretty girls and smartly dressed young men from 
the city, who were returning home after spending a week¬ 
end with friends. 

Before alighting from the automobile, Marcia gave 
Blake a fleeting kiss. She hesitated an instant when she 
had climbed out, then hastened toward the Pullman. He 
clambered after her and followed uncertainly a short dis¬ 
tance. She seemed to want to get away from him, and 
he remained standing on the cinder platform, his gaze 
following her like that of a disappointed child. And when 
the conductor cried “Bo’d” it sounded like “Good-bye 
forever” to him. 

The train began to move slowly. Marcia waved her 
hand and smiled at him through the window. When he 
waved back at her, a suffocating lump rose in his throat 
and he hastened away, as if from something he abhorred. 
Marcia, observing this, opened the window. 

“Good-bye, Don,” she called gaily. 

238 


BEYOND PARADISE 


239 


He had by this time reached his automobile and climbed 
in. 

“Good-bye,” he called back, smiling with an effort. 

Apparently the starter on his car failed to work, for 
he swung to the ground to crank the motor. After 
several mighty turns a great stream of white and black 
smoke issued from somewhere underneath the engine. 
The din from the worn mechanism was terrific; every¬ 
body about the depot was attracted by it, making Marcia 
feel embarrassed because she had ridden in such a “rattle¬ 
trap.” She lowered the window quickly and became 
markedly oblivious to the bulky man and his rickety and 
patched contrivance. Blake’s unconcern over the atten¬ 
tion the noise had suddenly call to him, was a lesson for 
her nevertheless. Through it he betrayed his confidence 
that his position among these people was so far above 
reproach that he was unconscious of their ridicule. And 
when he flounced into the seat, waving a final good-bye 
as he drove off, she admired his integrity and stability in 
spite of a desire to find fault with him. 

As Blake passed from view, Marcia became aware of 
an intense feeling of satisfaction to know how easy it was 
for him to allow her to follow the beckoning of her de¬ 
sires, almost forgetting that he had an altogether human 
mind, that was capable of resentment. Of course, she 
reasoned, he was aware that it was not through sheer 
self-interest that she was leaving him. He would derive 
an indirect benefit from it in time. A man of Donald 
Blake’s perspicacity could see far enough into the future 
to discern returns from what she accomplished while in 
Washington. That was why he did not object more 
strenuously to her progressive ideas. She was almost in¬ 
clined to consider him selfish to grant her the unrestricted 
privilege of seeking her own destiny. 

When her thoughts came back from wool-gathering she 
found Mrs. Folsom had already succumbed to the com¬ 
forts the porter offered. She was busy with reminiscences 
of the evening before, the hilarity of everybody at the 
party at Marcia’s house, especially one Quincy Reynolds, 
on temporary leave from the staff of a Boston paper, but 
about whose status there was some obscurity. Her great- 


240 


BEYOND PARADISE 


est satisfaction in connection with her sudden infatuation 
for Quincy was the fact that it was securely a secret all 
her own. However, she must not dwell on it too strongly 
even in silent meditation, or she was liable to give herself 
away. 

“You know/’ she said, when she saw Marcia studying 
her. “I didn’t believe Don could be as entertaining as he 
was last night.” 

“He isn’t nearly as attractive as Quincy,” retorted 
Marcia. 

Because Mrs. Folsom felt it her duty to concentrate 
faithfully on Willets, from whom she had received much 
attention before leaving Washington and many letters 
while she was in Waverly, this was quite a little upset for 
her. She knew that Willets’ admiration for Marcia was 
the only thing that was keeping him from proposing mar¬ 
riage to her, and if she could bring Marcia and Blake 
closer together her designs on Willets would be that much 
nearer realization. 

“That silly Boston boy is just a plaything for me,” she 
said lightly. “But, coming back to Don, I think he is 
perfectly splendid in company. You ought to be proud 
of a man like that.” 

1 am. 

“It isn’t in Waverly alone that he’s thought marvelous,” 
continued Mrs. Folsom. “I heard several of your out- 
of-town guests commend him very highly with respect to 
his professional ability. His patients think he’s a won¬ 
der !” 

“So do I.” 

“And he can’t be beat when it comes to entertaining.” 

“How interestingly you talk!” snapped Marcia, having 
in mind an Indian dance Blake had seen at a pow-wow 
while on a hunting trip the previous fall, a ridiculous 
parody of which he had given at her party. She was un¬ 
able to reconcile herself to his provoking conduct. “I 
know what you mean—that his dancing last night was 
terrible.” 

“That was the best thing I ever saw him do. It seems 
incredible that a man of his bulk could be so lithe. It was 
simply enchanting.” 


BEYOND PARADISE 


241 


There was a diabolical twinkle in Mrs. Folsom’s eyes. 
It provoked stern resentment from Marcia. 

'‘You’re ridiculing him!” she protested. “I won’t have 
it!” 

“I wouldn’t think of doing a thing like that, Marcia,” 
Mrs. Folsom retorted. “My admiration for Don is too 
great to let me think of deriding him. But his nonsense 
is so clever that I couldn’t help speaking about it.” 

For a moment Marcia was undecided; then her anger 
softened, for she concluded that Mrs. Folsom was really 
sincere when she lauded Blake. And reason made it clear 
to her that it was through her own lack of understanding 
that his dancing and nonsense appeared either vapid or 
preposterous to her, giving her a sudden feeling of pride 
to have someone praise her husband, the man she loved 
and had married. 

About Blake’s surgical and business ability there was 
no uncertainty, but it requires something besides an un¬ 
limited capacity for work and the mental and physical 
qualities to perform it with 1 dexterity to keep the happi¬ 
ness of a home intact. He had all along been making a 
machine of himself, which had partly robbed him of the 
things that are an essential part of life itself. His business 
had made him a serious man, and when this sobriety was 
suddenly cast off for conspicuous and exaggerated frivol¬ 
ity it drove Marcia to the point of exasperation. But 
when Mrs. Folsom—she was the only one to offer com¬ 
ment on the incident—spoke favorably of it, she presumed 
that the offense was pardonable after all. 

“Do you know,” she began thoughtfully, “at times I 
feel I’m horrid to Don. ... I doubt that I appre¬ 
ciate him as much as I should. I think he is wonderful 
and I tell him about it, but sometimes I wonder if he 
cares. He’s so funny!” 

“Why don’t you have a better understanding with 
him ?” retorted the other quickly, as if she had been wait¬ 
ing for the opportunity. “Don’t make the big mistake of 
putting it off too long.” 

“What is there to understand?” 

“A lot. Talk it over with him. I’m inclined to doubt 
that you two have ever had a real heart-to-heart talk.” 


242 


BEYOND PARADISE 


“We used to have them when we were sweethearts,” 
said Marcia whimsically. “But we’ve forgotten how.” 

Mrs. Folsom sighed. “You had better learn again.” 

“You talk as if Don and I were on the verge of 
estrangement.” 

“Well, I hope it isn’t as bad as that.” 

“Oh, I know our life could be a little more pleasant 
and agreeable,” Marcia admitted. “But I’ve tried my 
best to find out what’s ailing him, only to be convinced 
that it’s all so useless. We never get anywhere discussing 
the matter. It usually ends in silly quarrels. I believe 
that we are living about normally.” 

Mrs. Folsom knew that this was a misconception on 
Marcia’s part, and that such a condition is a serious 
menace to a household. Yet there was little doubt that at 
times Marcia deliberately courted this kind of danger. 

“Why don’t you try doing nice things for him?” Mrs. 
Folsom suggested. 

“That’s where the trouble lies,” replied Marcia care¬ 
lessly. “He’s so much more capable of doing things for 
himself than I am that it discourages me.” 

“I would try something ” she insisted. 

“What can I do beside what I am doing?” 

“Don’t you think he would gladly go with you on a 
trip like this if you invited him ?” 

“I’m sure he wouldn’t,” asserted Marcia seriously. “His 
work is of such great importance to him that he wouldn’t 
leave it to travel with me.” 

“Have you asked him?” 

“To accompany me?” 

“Yes.” 

“I did when I went as a delegate to the convention. 
And I’ll never do it again! So don’t coax me!” 

“You’re too wise to talk like that.” 

“Sometimes brains are a liability,” she retorted. 

Mrs. Folsom saw that her efforts were useless, so she 
said no more. 

“But I’m too young and pretty to indulge in thoughts 
that bring care lines,” Marcia added a little later. “And 
my future is too bright to ruin with worry.” 

She had always found comfort in regarding serious 


BEYOND PARADISE 


243 


situations lightly. And as she settled back to greater 
comfort, making ready to read a magazine, Mrs. Folsom, 
watching the calm and lovely face, the intelligent, kindly 
eyes, wondered if a man like Blake was not deserving of 
a more steadfast companion. 

Once again in Washington, Marcia immediately set 
about renewing old acquaintances and making new ones. 
This was easy because she had made a favorable impres¬ 
sion on her previous visit there. This pleased her, for 
she was aware of the fact that the enterprise she had 
assigned to herself was still only in its chrysalis stage, 
although her determination to make Waverly a port-of- 
entrance for political aspirants had not diminished. On 
the other hand, she was encouraged in her venture be¬ 
cause Blake had practically assured her his financial aid. 
He had spent a huge sum on backing the recognition to 
which she elevated herself, and she was confident he was 
ready to devote even more to the cause. She did not par¬ 
ticularly like the idea of accepting his co-operation, for 
she wanted her achievements to be purely her own, much 
concerned over the possibility that reference might be 
made to her as the wife of Doctor Blake, of Waverly; 
but in her anxiety to gain her point, she considered it 
perfectly legitimate business to accept or even solicit his 
support. Nevertheless, her conscience troubled her a 
little when she thought of Blake being the power behind 
her throne; although financial prowess was really the most 
admirable attribute she could any longer discern in a 
husband. 

For a time there was nothing to vex or grieve her. The 
world seemed devoid of annoyances. Then, unexpectedly, 
there appeared several sharp twists in the road ahead that 
upset the smooth order of her arrangements. Things 
were no longer harmonizing as they should; she had pro¬ 
ceeded beyond the offing in her venture, as it were, and 
had begun buffeting the high, treacherous waves. 

The position Willets had allotted her was undesirable 
in many respects. In the first place, it had no prestige 
behind it, the thing she most desired. As soon as she 
discovered this she took the matter up with Willets, think- 


244 


BEYOND PARADISE 


ing that this was all that was necessary to be transferred 
to a place where she would be influential. Although Wil- 
lets listened with sympathy to her complaint, he had little 
encouragement for her except his promise that he would 
try and do something to make a satisfactory adjustment. 
But, after dilly-dallying a few days, he informed her there 
was nothing he could do for her in the way of a change; 
that all the appointments had been made and it was too 
early to accept resignation. The only thing he could do 
was to continue to exert his influence trying to make 
things agreeable for her. Instead of having bettered her¬ 
self, her authority over her several subordinates now be¬ 
came nil, making her a mere figurehead in an office that 
had been created for the satisfaction of political parasites. 

Sinister pressure, that seemed to arise from nowhere 
in particular, was also brought to bear on those to whom 
she must account, who in turn vented their displeasure 
on her. The atmosphere was steadily becoming more and 
more surcharged with criticism, making her position al¬ 
most untenable. It was not long before Marcia became 
thoroughly convinced that Willets was in a position to 
sanction or reject what was favorable or unfavorable to 
him, and it was evident that she had come under his un¬ 
favorable consideration. As a consequence, she uncon¬ 
sciously rendered indifferent and inefficient service, some¬ 
thing that would have been of small account had she still 
been in favor, but since she was not, she must weather a 
flood of severe censure. 

For a time she worried along, hoping that Willets 
would be impressed with her self-reliance, only to find 
this method ineffective. He was still willing at all times 
to discuss her difficulties with her from all angles, pre¬ 
tending they were all a revelation to him, and that there¬ 
fore he was innocent with regard to any humiliation she 
might be suffering. His unreserved partisanship, his glib 
reassurance that the infractions must and would discon¬ 
tinue, finally provoked her into open rebellion against 
him. This pleased him, for it was just what he had been 
waiting for. 

“Tell me,” she said, “what are you driving at?” 

“I’m driving at nothing,” he replied stupidly. “Why?” 


BEYOND PARADISE 245 

“Yes, you are! Don’t be afraid to talk to me. I’m not 
a child in arms.” 

“I know it. That’s the reason we don’t get along.” 

“I didn’t know we were not getting along.” 

In his eyes there was an expression of intense longing. 
“I could easily get along with you,” he said. “It’s you 
who don’t want to get along with me.” 

Understanding him now, she was overwhelmed with 
sadness, but she managed to laugh quite airily when she 
said, “You silly man. I am the most agreeable person in 
the world.” 

“You’re a devil!” he blurted out. “A tantalizing she- 
devil!” 

“Oh! Do you think I’m really as bad as that ?” 

She was laughing again, but he cut her short by spring¬ 
ing to his feet. He came toward her, catching her in his 
arms. The longing look in his eyes had become a de¬ 
signing, covetous glower. 

“Yes, you are,” he said, his body quivering. “You’ve 
driven me insane! And, mind you, I won’t give you up! 
I never will!” She fought him off as best she could. His 
hot breath on her cheek was repulsive to her. “If you 
would only love me a little,” he continued, “I’d make you 
the envy of the country. I’d make you famous in society, 
in politics—here and abroad. There is nothing I 
wouldn’t do for you. Can’t you see how I want your 
love? How can you deny . . . . ” 

His voice drowned itself in an ugly groan. The violent, 
passionate exertion was too much for him; his arms re¬ 
laxed and he sank slowly to the floor. The subconscious 
mind made his twitching fingers reach for something to 
cling to, and, coming in contact with Marcia’s gown, they 
grasped it, pulling her down beside him. She was not 
frightened; this was the third time she had seen him in 
the throe of epilepsy since the automobile accident. 

After a time he revived and his grasp relaxed; Marcia 
lifted herself into a chair. He gazed about stupidly, 
mumbling incoherently, then made a futile attempt to re¬ 
gain his feet. Unable to rise up, he rested his head on 
her knees and remained very quiet for a long time. 

It was almost unbelievable that under this man’s suave 


246 


BEYOND PARADISE 


exterior there lurked such brusque passion. What had 
inspired it? A multiplicity of other questions came to 
Marcia’s mind. Had she known, however, that her all- 
pervading charm had penetrated his soul, she might have 
found it easier to excuse him. 

'‘I’m a beast,” he said eventually, turning away. 

“You’re worse than that,” she said, pushing him from 
her. 

“Call me what you will,” he said brokenly, “and I’ll 
admit you’re telling the truth.” 

“That wouldn’t rectify the irreparable hurt you’ve done 
me. 

“May I ask you to forgive me?” 

“It isn’t that. It’s the sneaking means you’ve employed 
to humiliate me.” 

“You’re doing me an injustice,” he protested. “I have 
never hesitated to defend you, though at times I was 
forced to yield and decide against you. Your progressive 
ideas conflict too seriously with sound politics. You must 
remember that the moment you go outside your realm 
you’re infringing on the rights of someone else.” 

This was a revelation to Marcia. Her aggressiveness, 
although far-reaching enough to make people think and 
cause them to comment, was unrecognized by herself. But 
it was gratifying to know that her influence had attracted 
the attention of her contemporaries. 

Willets staggered to his feet and sank heavily into a 
chair beside her, resting his head on the desk littered with 
books and papers. Marcia did not trust him. She felt 
he might be feigning, for she had seen him recuperate 
from these attacks in a few minutes, yet fully half an 
hour had elapsed since he had been stricken, and he con¬ 
tinued to act stuporous. 

She did not want to leave him before she was certain 
he had recovered sufficiently to know what he was doing. 
So, in order to forestall him if he should attempt another 
advance, she moved her chair to the opposite side of the 
desk. Except for sonorous breathing, that violently shook 
his body, Willets remained motionless, his head buried 
in the crook of his arm. Marcia picked up a pencil and 
began drawing an endless entanglement of scrolls on the 


BEYOND PARADISE 


247 


margin of a newspaper. She failed to notice that almost 
instantly his breathing had become easier, but a casual 
glance caught him watching her. Pretending not to have 
observed him, she continued to scribble for a while. Then, 
tossing the pencil carelessly on the desk, she got up and 
left the room. 

******** 

That same day Marcia called on Lyman Curtis. 
Womanlike, she was seeking sympathy from someone 
she knew well. She had puzzled a long time before she 
could bring herself to do it. Willets, whom she had 
trusted so implicitly, had through his conduct shocked her 
almost into misanthropy. The wrecking of her confi¬ 
dence in a man whose companionship had been such a 
source of inspiration, whose character she had seen in 
such a noble light that she had innocently desired to pat¬ 
tern it, for which she hoped to owe no other recompense 
than her esteem, had robbed her of the loveliest and most 
delicate thing in the heart of a woman. 

At length she found herself seated in the waiting-room 
of Curtis’ office. He was occupied in an adjoining room 
when she entered; there was no attendant present to re¬ 
ceive her, in conformity with an office whose incumbent is 
satisfied with the mere pittance he received as a weekly 
salary, because it permits him to live a life void of real 
responsibility. 

The hum of Curtis’ smooth, even voice, occasionally 
drowned by another, deeper and coarser, was the only in¬ 
dication that he was in. Eventually he maneuvered the 
man with the gruff voice into the room where Marcia 
was waiting. The man was big and indolently fat, tower¬ 
ing above Curtis, who was familiarly holding his arm. But 
when Curtis observed Marcia, he became urgent to hasten 
the man’s departure. 

“Well, then I can depend on that?” the fat man wanted 
to know. 

“Yes! Certainly, Bill.” 

“At what time can I see you?” 

“Any time,” said Curtis with curt impatience. “Good- 
day.” 


248 


BEYOND PARADISE 


Marcia smiled. “Are you going to drive me out as you 
did that man?” 

Curtis came hurriedly toward her. “I have something 
very interesting to tell you. Was just going to call you 
over the telephone.” 

“You have something interesting to tell me?” echoed 
Marcia. 

“Yes. . . . Well, probably you’ve heard about it.” 

Marcia was thoughtful. “It’s possible that I have. But 
go on and tell me. So many surprising things have come 
to me within the past few days that I’m really shock- 
proof now.” 

“Did anybody tell you anything about Mrs. Folsom and 
Willets ?” 

Marcia thought for a moment. She imagined she had 
heard quite a number of things about those people, but 
she did not want to delay hearing what Curtis had to say 
by making guesses. 

“No,” she said simply. 

“Then you don't know.” He seemed pleased because 
he was to be given the opportunity of being her in¬ 
formant. “Just heard about it myself.” 

Marcia’s curiosity turned to impatience. “Well, what 
is it ?” she demanded. 

He pulled up a chair and sat down. “Mrs. Folsom is 
going to marry Willets,” he said hesitatingly, as if still 
doubting the veracity of the one who had informed him. 
“Of course, that is heresay. . . . But it’s good gos¬ 

sip—even if it isn’t so.” 

“It’s news to me,” said Marcia, recalling Willets’ atti¬ 
tude toward her that morning, “but I believe it.” 

“To tell the truth, I do, too.” 

“Who told you?” 

“The man you just saw leaving here,” he replied with 
a nod at the door. “Bill Reigel. You remember Bill?” 

“I don’t think I do,” answered Marcia. 

“He writes syndicated opinions for daily papers. He’s 
the one who spilled the beans for Jimsey Woolford.” 

“So that’s who he is! I don’t remember of ever having 
see him before, but to be capable of playing the mean 


BEYOND PARADISE 249 

trick he did on Jimsey, he’d have to look about the way 
he does.” 

“Yeh, Bill is one of those necessary evils,” continued 
Curtis. “He came to see me on other business, incident¬ 
ally telling me about Mrs. Folsom and Willets.” 

“How did he know?” Marcia asked pensively. 

“Fellows like he make it a business to find out every¬ 
thing. I always slip him a little when he puts me onto 
something. He knows we are friendly, and I presume he 
thought the information was worth as much to me as 
anyone he knew of.” 

Marcia had up to this time been only mildly concerned 
over what Curtis had told her, but now felt a great wave 
of anger surge through her, and her pupils dilated until 
her eyes looked black. “Well, I have come to ask you 
not to be friendly with him any longer. ... I mean 
Harry Willets.” 

Curtis countered with a request of his own. “I’ll do 
that, but in return I’ll ask you to stop associating with 
Mrs. Folsom.” 

“That’s a bargain,” Marcia promptly assented. Then 
she became vaguely conscious of what Mrs. Folsom’s loss 
would mean to her, and she added, “I have figured her in 
everywhere in my entertainments next summer. But I 
suppose I must get along without her.” 

Curtis immediately advanced several reasons why Mrs. 
Folsom should be considered a liability rather than an 
asset. 

“She has never,” he began, knowing that Marcia still 
admired her, “ever since I have known her, worked for 
anyone’s interest except her own. I believe your admira¬ 
tion for her has blinded you to that fact. You got along 
with her because you were not required to consider the 
material side of her friendship. My reasons for dealing 
with her were different. I could not afford to lose sight 
of the financial part of our transactions, but all the re¬ 
imbursement I ever received for my services was promises 
and smiles.” 

Marcia listened in grave astonishment. Then the hu¬ 
morous side of it presented itself. 

“That is the most serious-minded speech I ever heard 


250 


BEYOND PARADISE 


you make/’ she remarked soberly. “Why haven’t I ever 
heard you talk like that before?” 

He was about to launch into an explanation when he 
looked at the clock the Government maintained on the 
wall in his office. 

“Come,” he said, rising, “have dinner with me tonight. 

. . . . Tra-la-tra-la-la-lala.” He danced toward 

her, swaying rhythmically in harmony with the tune. He 
grasped Marcia by the hands, and, drawing her to her 
feet, danced her about the room with him. It was just 
the thing to banish her melancholy. He had enough of 
the frivolous life in him to be delightfully agreeable, the 
reason why she had never been adverse to his friendship, 
though he fell far short in other respects of what she 
thought a man should measure up to. As they continued 
to dance she regretted that Blake had never made it a 
practice to indulge in nonsensical antics with her. He had 
instead trained her to a life of dull sobriety, a life no one 
could continue to live indefinitely. Her pondering dis¬ 
turbed the smooth undulating movement of their dancing, 
and when they stumbled against a chair, knocking it over 
and breaking it, her imprudence made her think of home 
and Blake in a different way. To her he was the only 
man in the world who had no other than really admirable 
attributes. Curtis had suddenly become almost repulsive 
to her. 

“We ought to be ashamed of ourselves,” she protested. 

Curtis was never disturbed by what anyone thought he 
should or should not do. “Let’s go to the Carstens’,” said 
he, picking up the chair and adjusting it. “I’m fond of 
their cuisine. They also have good music and a fine place 
to dance. It’ll be fair for us to enjoy ourselves there.” 

“That’ll be splendid,” she eagerly accepted, trying to 
free herself from the oppression the thought of Blake had 
induced. “I want music, dancing . . . a lot of en¬ 

tertainment.” Although she tried to appear gay, she 
spoke with an effort, her words coming with a sadness 
that was foreign to her voice. And when she experienced 
a constriction in her throat, she added, “In a week I’ll be 
home, Lyman.” 


BEYOND PARADISE 251 

Curtis was not inclined to believe her, so he was not 
seriously concerned over what she had said. 

At Carstens J they saw Mrs. Folsom seated at a table 
with Willets, receiving his undivided attention. Marcia 
observed then- in silence, glad that they were unaware of 
her presence. Despite her avowed intention to be an¬ 
tagonistic toward Willets, she had rather hoped for a 
dignified reconciliation with him; but as she continued to 
watch them, she knew that any further assistance from 
him in a political way was out of the question. It pained 
her to realize that the major portion of her erstwhile sup¬ 
porting triumvirate was arrayed against her. Did this 
mean that all of her efforts had been misdirected? She 
now understood what a grave mistake she made when she 
failed to act on her own impulses. Willets’ help, readily 
accepted because it was the easiest way to her objective, 
had proven to be a most serious detriment. 

In desperation, like a drowning man reaching for a 
straw, she began a careful analysis of Curtis as a possible 
nucleus around whom she could build a fighting machine 
formidable enough to successfully cope with the one that 
sustained Willets. At length her decision was this: he 
was interestingly inconsequential enough to gain the 
plaudits of a certain class of people, and since delay was 
not desirable in her latest venture, he must do for a be¬ 
ginning. 

She saw Soulsberry single her out and come towards 
her, and she made a quick decision to use him as her 
herald. She wanted him to hurry, fearing she might 
forget part of her plans if he was detained, but he sud¬ 
denly shied off in another direction and seated himself 
at a table far removed from her. 

She was glad he had been attracted away when she 
realized more time was required to perfect her plans to 
the point where she would be ready to divulge them to her 
friends. So far the most gratifying thing about her new 
project was the knowledge that she was as persevering as 
ever when forced to rely on her own resources, having 
become uncomfortably aware that she had submitted to 
laxity when her scheme was manifestly working out so 
smoothly under Willets’ management. 


252 


BEYOND PARADISE 


“Let us dance,” she suggested at length, putting aside 
her fantasy for the time being. 

They got up and merged with the other dancers. 

“You dance beautifully/’ said Curtis, as if he had just 
found it out. 

“Yes, very beautifully,” she mimicked him. 

He gave her a reassuring little hug, which put them 
slightly out of step. “You do!” 

“Let’s try and not break any more furniture.” 

“I don’t care. It isn’t mine!” 

They danced on. 

Mrs. Folsom and Willets had left when they returned 
to their table. Marcia became conscious of something 
puzzling; the departure of Mrs. Folsom and her compan¬ 
ion seemed to have inverted the place; it was stripped of 
all that had given it warmth and charm. 

Marcia returned home determined to carry out as nearly 
as possible her program as originally outlined; as there 
was much to think and worry about in connection with 
it, she went to work immediately, with a zest that had 
always been an attribute of hers. For a while, when she 
received nothing but rebuffs from people who had always 
been her friends, she lacked the courage to carry through 
her plans. The hurt inflicted was an acute, almost a 
physical pain, as though a vital part of her was being cut 
away. She lost sleep over the situation, but finally de¬ 
cided that she could not retreat; it was possible that she 
would be returned to favor when she demonstrated her 
power by converting a fantastic notion into something 
tangible. 

She found the servant situation in her home distressing. 
She tried in vain to restore order among her staff, and 
it was only after discharging three of the most arrogant, 
including old Coats, that her attempted discipline was 
finally effective. There was evidence that shameful oc¬ 
currences had taken place in her home for months, and 
when she called Blake’s attention to it, in a sense of repri¬ 
mand for having allowed it, he remarked sullenly, “I 
never thought you’d be so negligent with respect to your 
house.” 


BEYOND PARADISE 253 

His reply made her wish she had tolerated in silence 
the infractions the servants had committed. 

She had entered his private room unexpectedly, find¬ 
ing him at his desk busy with a stack of paper. Her 
unceremonious appearance annoyed him, much as when a 
wild thing is approached without warning and finds itself 
at bay. He threw his big arm over the papers, covering 
them completely, with the exception of one, on which 
he had evidently been concentrating his thoughts when she 
came in, the trend of which he obviously did not want to 
break. 

“I have no one to blame but myself,” she admitted. 
Then, becoming mildly vindicative in almost the same 
breath, she added, “but it’s appalling how few people 
can be trusted nowadays. My confidence was misplaced 
—and I shouldn’t be blamed for that.” 

“If I dwelt as continuously as you do on the seamy sides 
of people’s characters, my reason would waver!” he re¬ 
torted fiercely. 

Marcia was afraid to speak again. Even the stern 
lessons she had learned in the pitiless school of politics 
had not hardened her enough to make her feel safe when 
he was in this vicious mood. 

His unusually violent temper made her hesitant about 
going through with the entertainment she had arranged 
for that night. In order to find out how he felt about 
it, she invited him rather dubiously to attend. 

“I wish you would take time to be present tonight at 
the first of a number of entertainments I am giving,” she 
said, trying to appear calm. “I’m going to have guests 
from Washington at a dinner-dance.” 

“Entertainments!” he snapped. “I detest stilted enter¬ 
tainments !” 

“This’ll be a jolly affair. I’ve also invited some of 
our friends from here.” 

“So you have condescended to mix with locals, eh?” 

“Yes. Dean Drake, Booky Walton—” 

“Oh, damn!” he shouted. “Stiff backs, cold stares, 
sickening smiles. . . . Yes, it’ll be lovely!” 

“Really, don’t you like parties?” 


254 


BEYOND PARADISE 


“Not that kind!” he replied vehemently. “And you 
know it!” 

“It’s because this is something new for us,” she in¬ 
sisted. 

“I know I am an old fool,” Blake accused himself, his 
temper cooling. “To attend a swell affair is not the thing 
for a big, cumbersome, country bumpkin like me.” 

“That’s just imagination on your part,” she objected, 
gaining confidence as he showed signs of giving in. 
“You’re making it almost impossible for me to get along 
with you any more.” 

“Whose fault is it?” 

She was actually undecided. “Well, I don’t know.” 

“It’s yours,” he accused her. “Sometime ago you in¬ 
dicated you didn’t want me at your parties.” 

“This is an awful life!” she wailed. 

“Isn’t it! It’s a shame to live the way we do!” 

There seemed to be something gnawing at the very soul 
of the man. 

“And don’t forget,” he added, “someone’s got to make 
the money to pay for your celebrations.” 

“Why, Don, you told me you were rich.” 

“That was some time ago. Let me tell you, if you’re 
going to keep on flying high I think I’d better stick right 
to the business of making money.” 

She refused to believe that he was serious. A man 
who had as much money as Donald Blake could not com¬ 
plain about her expenditure and be in earnest. She 
laughed with a splendid effort, trying to show that she 
appreciated his humor. 

“I suppose we’ll go bankrupt if you don’t.” 

Blake was sullen. “You regard a solemn fact as a mere 
myth.” 

“You are really funny, Don,” she said, laughing again. 
“Is pleading poverty your way of dodging the income 
tax ?” 

He felt somewhat guilty over this. “You don’t know 
the circumstances,” he said thickly. “I’m glad you don’t, 
or there would be hell to pay.” 

Marcia wanted to fathom his profane dejection, which 
persisted in spite of anything she attempted, but it might 


BEYOND PARADISE 


255 


upset her plans for that night if she became worried. It 
was so easy for him to fly into a violent tantrum. And 
not being in a very cheerful mood herself, she declined 
to pursue what she considered a meaningless argument 
that was certain to precipitate a severe clash if she insisted 
on getting to the bottom of it. 

She threw her head back with a quick, short jerk, and 
hurried from the room, leaving him sulking over the 
papers he seemed to value so highly. 

The affair that night was a success as successes go. 
There was much to be elated over, especially for one 
who was as keenly conscious of the many favorable little 
occurrences as Marcia; in all the trivial twists and turns 
she could discern indications that meant real social 
triumph for her in the future, which would lend invaluable 
aid to her political aspirations. 

But before she had reached the point when she and her 
guests were gathered about a long, elaborately decorated 
table, she had encountered many vexing problems, which 
made her wish that her ambitions had never gone further 
than a desire to marry and live in a cottage and be the 
mother of several children. 

One of the most exasperating things had occurred in 
connection with the servants. She had depended on her 
new butler, Halliday, in whom she had such confidence, 
to handle the preparation and serving of food, forgetting 
that she had selected him at random from the group in 
her employ after her discipular readjustment, and that 
he had never served in this capacity before, and was not 
to be relied upon too implicitly. When she asked him re¬ 
garding the arrangement of the dinner course for that 
evening, he informed her blithely, “Nothing has been ar¬ 
ranged, ma’am. I have been waiting to hear from you.” 

“I’ll help you with it,” she said, subduing a desire to 
rebuke him. “How is the cook getting along?” 

“He’s also waiting for orders from you, ma’am.” 

“Has nothing been done?” she asked angrily. 

“Nothing, ma’am.” 

Marcia looked at her watch. It was past four o’clock. 
She knew now that a household of uniformed servants 


BEYOND PARADISE 


256 

is not as pleasant to deal with as to look at. Their de¬ 
portment, she discovered, is strictly in ratio with the 
watching, driving, and guidance they are under. Her 
anger made her speechless, yet the things she wanted to 
say were heaping up in her mind, eventually compelling 
her to burst forth with something. 

“You blundering idiot!” she exploded. “Why am I 
paying you?” 

Halliday seemed unaffected by her rage. “To do what 
I am ordered to do, ma’am,” he said, standing erect and 
without the slightest tremor of his body. 

“Then why don’t you obey orders ?” 

“There were none,” he returned quickly, with a single 
sideward turn of his head. “None whatever, ma’am.” 

“Are you unable to think for yourself ?” 

“It isn’t customary for a servant to take the initiative, 
ma’am—not a good servant, unless privileged to do so.” 

The butler’s retort had a deep significance for Marcia. 
It occurred to her that possibly she was incapable of 
managing a household of servants; so she decided to go 
slowly and learn from Halliday. 

“All right, Halliday,” she relented. “My scolding isn’t 
going to do the work. It’s my fault as much as it is 
yours because nothing has been done. I am sorry I was 
hasty. I shouldn’t have spoken the way I did. Come, we 
have yet time to redeem ourselves.” 

Together they went to the kitchen, the butler looking 
down at her from his great height, smiling contemp¬ 
tuously. 

******** 

The early part of the dinner was devoid of anything 
that might indicate a merry evening. Marcia recalled 
what Blake had said about “stiff backs.” She was cha¬ 
grined by the fact that her gathering included no one of 
real prominence. Marcia found relief from despair only 
through the excellent service rendered during the meal by 
Halliday and his assistants. 

The party seemed doomed to flat failure, until former 
Governor Goodrich, now Senator Goodrich, instilled some 
life into it by liberal allowances of home brew from his 
own private stock, which he distributed lavishly among 


BEYOND PARADISE 


257 

the guests and the members of the orchestra which had 
been engaged to supply music for the dancing. 

The whole party immediately became infected with the 
abandon of the gin-inspired music, and the party soon 
assumed the appearance and behavior of a bacchanalian 
revel. Booky Walton, Waverly’s investment banker and 
recreatively an authority on art and literature and an or¬ 
ganizer of amateur theatricals, was inspired to band the 
company into a musical comedy chorus with decided em¬ 
phasis on that institution's less desirable and admirable 
stunts. 

About midnight Blake came home—worried. Although 
he had stubbornly refused to attend Marcia’s party, he 
could not help being interested in it when he saw how 
elaborate had been her arrangements. He decided to find 
Marcia, and if she was willing, he would yet take part in 
it, pretending he had been detained by professional duties 
up till now. Everybody seemed to be in the living-room, 
from which there issued sounds of noisy applause, whoops 
and laughter, dying away into a low hum of voices. 

Blake went to the door and surveyed the room with a 
sweeping glance. The first glimpse he got of the gather¬ 
ing thrilled him. These gay people made him feel good. 
As he lingered unnoticed at the door, he felt impelled to 
go in and announce, ‘‘Well, here I am!” But at that 
moment there was an expectant hush and everybody 
quickly found seats. There followed a little soft music, 
a little whispering, a little giggling, suppressed coughs, all 
of which was now and then drowned by the sound of 
a deep, drawling voice. Then there was a craning of 
necks toward an improvised stage at one end of the 
room. The curtain swept back, revealing a funeral bier, 
on which reposed a woman, whom Blake recognized as 
Mrs. John Berthold, the wife of a railroad superintend¬ 
ent living at Williston. Dean Drake, attired in a travesty 
of a Shakespearean costume, now made his appearance 
on the stage, pretending he was at the point of exhaustion 
from the violent struggle he had had to reach the side of 
his beloved. He pressed a long, ardent kiss on her lips, 
then drank the death potion from a whisky flask he drew 
from his hip pocket. Dean died instantly. Immediately 


258 


BEYOND PARADISE 


after he had succumbed to the deadly poison, the woman 
revived and began shrieking frantically when she saw 
what had happened. She rushed to his side and took a 
draught from the flask, then kissed Dean several times 
and again put the flask to her lips, collapsing an instant 
later over his prostrate form. 

Their interpretation of Romeo and Juliet was a very 
amusing farce, but Blake could not approve of a single 
man kissing another man’s wife for the entertainment of 
a crowd. He would not remain to see Marcia subject 
herself to anything so ridiculous, and he left the house as 
quickly as he could. 

The effusive sorrow Marcia expressed because Blake 
had found it impossible to attend her party, the telling of 
how perfectly lovely it all was, nettled him. Although he 
did not tell her what he had seen of it, his lack of en¬ 
thusiasm over her wonderful affair was enough to warn 
Marcia not to keep referring to it too persistently. 

For many weeks Blake maintained a surly attitude, 
much like that he had shown upon Marcia’s return from 
Washington. He no longer conjured up excuses for his 
absence from home night after night, as though his obli¬ 
gations toward her were at an end. Marcia might have 
been concerned over this had she not been too deeply en¬ 
grossed with wild scheming to crush Willets to regard his 
actions seriously. Only occasionally would she lapse into 
domesticity long enough to try to fathom his peculiar 
mental state. 

Of course, Marcia was not altogether to blame for their 
lack of co-ordination. It was useless for her to ask Blake 
to confide in her, as he invariably flared up whenever she 
expressed her willingness to share his difficulties. This 
usually aggravated Marcia’s none too even temper and the 
question would be put aside until his morbidity became 
more intolerable than his flare-ups, when there would be 
a repetition of Marcia’s attempt to bring about a better 
understanding. 

Then there came a period when Marcia ruthlessly 
brushed aside everything to clear the way for social 
triumphs. House party followed house party. Most of 


BEYOND PARADISE 


259 


the time she had people from Washington in her home as 
her guests. Even her wildest dreams were being more 
than realized. When she reflected on her association with 
Mrs. Folsom, it was evident that this had been a draw¬ 
back rather than a help to her, for she had never met 
with such success when Mrs. Folsom had taken part in 
the arrangements. 

And just when it seemed her efforts in Waverly would 
end in a blaze of glory that was certain to follow her to 
Washington, something happened. She received notifica¬ 
tion from the capital stating that after an investigation of 
charges filed against her it was deemed advisable to ask 
her to resign her position. For some time she puzzled 
over it, at length finding relief by attributing this political 
turn to her increasing power. She thought it was an indi¬ 
cation that her opponents regarded her with fear, which 
made them resort to desperate means to curtail her ac¬ 
tivity, and she considered the demand an achievement 
rather than defeat. 

But the temporary upset brought about by her oppo¬ 
nents in Washington did not have time to subside when 
she was dealt a second and far more terrific blow. Blake, 
instead of having spent his time in consultations and per¬ 
forming emergency operations, as he had told Marcia and 
as she had believed he was doing, had devoted his time 
to Phyllis. And after weeks of unlicensed love there had 
come the inevitable day of reckoning. 

“I want you to give me my freedom,” he demanded 
abruptly after a day of extreme dejection, as if the 
thought had struck him suddenly. “I want to be free. I 
am going away. I’ll never bother you. You can have 
everything I’ve got. I don’t want a single thing. Just 
let me go.” 

Marcia was dumfounded. A terrible weakness crept 
over her body. 

“What is it ?” she gasped. “What do you mean, Don ?” 

“That you must give me a divorce,” he said huskily. 

His serious mien left no doubt as to his intentions. It 
stupefied Marcia. 

“Wh—why,” she faltered, “why do you say that?” 


26 o 


BEYOND PARADISE 


“You know,” he replied, “there can only be one reason 
for it.” 

“Then you care for someone else?” 

He nodded his head. “Yes.” 

“Oh, Don! Oh, Don!” 

She could say no more. Her eyes welled with tears and 
she sat down and buried her face in her hands, crying 
bitterly. Blake stirred uneasily, sorry for her; but he 
was determined not to allow his sentimentality to alter his 
decision. 

“I cannot believe it,” she sobbed. “Not of you, Don.” 

“I owe her an obligation and I propose to take care of 
her.” 

“Why don’t you think of your responsibility to me? I 
am your wife!” 

“Heaven knows I’ve thought of that!” 

“Then how can you say what you did ?” 

“My obligation towards her is deeper than any I owe 
you. Don’t you understand?” 

Marcia straightened up. A defiant gleam shot from 
her moist eyes. She considered for a moment. She did 
comprehend. 

“Well, you shall not be with her! I refuse to release 
you! My duty as your wife, my pride, my love for you, 
all forbid it.” 

“Marcia.” 

“Don’t plead with me!” she interrupted him. “Who¬ 
ever this woman is, she must suffer the consequences of 
her indiscretions.” 

Blake nodded his head. “That, I suppose, is final?” 

“You shouldn’t have any doubt about it, knowing me as 
well as you do.” 

“I just wanted to know.” 



Chapter XIII 

To become practically a penniless beggar in a strange 
city, far removed from friends, a hunted man, no longer 
daring to follow his profession, in fact, to face a new be¬ 
ginning for a life already forty years spent—this was the 
problem that now confronted Doctor Blake. 

His hasty departure from Waverly during the night 
with Phyllis Girard, the woman he loved, but whom the 
law denied him, necessitated the forsaking of many of 
the things that might have added to his comfort. Had his 
desperate move worked out with anything like a semblance 
of the way he had planned and visualized it, their tribula¬ 
tions might have been more endurable. 

He had made the mistake of not taking time to consider 
that some disastrous twist was liable to occur in con¬ 
nection with the course he had decided to follow when 
Marcia refused to give him the freedom he wanted. But 
to be robbed by highway bandits when his automobile 
stalled after he had driven something like two hundred 
miles, was something he could not have foretold had he 
schemed and prepared for months. It changed everything. 
Not a single plan he had made could possibly materialize 
now. 

It was only through his remarkable resourcefulness 
that he was able to proceed further after the bandits left 
him destitute by the wayside. For several days he trudged 
with Phyllis and her boy along the country roads, carry¬ 
ing their scant luggage. In the pockets of Blake’s coat 
there were a dozen or more intaglios and cameos of his 
earliest cutting; these the bandits had overlooked in their 
haste to get away, or, perhaps, they had not recognized 
their value. 

The three were the weariest pedestrians imaginable at 
the end of the third day. They had found it necessary to 
follow a railroad, the highways being mucky from heavy 
rain during the night. The boy seemed to stand traveling 
261 


262 


BEYOND PARADISE 


by foot the best of the three, undoubtedly due to the fact 
that he was allotted the largest portion of the food they 
had had courage enough to beg once or twice daily.. 

Near the end of this day of heavy plodding, with no 
hope of anything better than a hand-out to eat and a bed 
in the dampness of the open world, they encountered a 
villager with an interest in intaglios, to whom Blake sold 
several of the stones of his finset cutting for a rather in¬ 
significant sum. 

“Just my luck,” he complained. “That fellow wanted 
intaglios and nearly all I have are cameos.” 

Phyllis tried to cheer him. “Perhaps the next one will 
want cameos.” 

But after that traveling was easier, for they could now 
buy something to eat. 

As if this bit of fortune had created an incentive, Provi¬ 
dence manifestly took a hand. The following day Blake 
was able to give expert attention to a farmer who had 
suffered a fall from a high scaffolding erected for paint¬ 
ing his barn. Since the farm telephone line was out of 
order, the family were at their wits’ end trying to sum¬ 
mon a doctor quickly. Blake volunteered his services, 
telling them not such a big lie about being a traveling doc¬ 
tor, and the leg was set in a crude but effective way. 

The farmer lamented when Blake told him how long 
he would be disabled. In that case the painting of the 
barn would have to go over until the following summer 
—and it needed the paint badly. Blake saw a double op¬ 
portunity to make money if arrangements could be made 
whereby he would finish the painting for him. Since 
the eldest boy in the family had suggested it would be 
best to have the doctor who reduced the fracture remain 
to give it his subsequent attention, it did not require much 
bargaining to obtain the job. 

In three weeks the bones were united sufficiently to 
permit the removal of the splint without danger to the 
patient. Having finished the work on the barn, as well as 
having put a new coat of paint on the house, and being 
desirous of moving on, Blake hurried the removal of the 
splint, cautioning the man to remain quiet a few weeks 
longer. 


BEYOND PARADISE 


263 


Although Blake was not inclined to be mercenary, he 
knew that his remuneration would be forthcoming as soon 
as he pronounced his patient able to get along without 
him; and it required money to make good his escape. 
After all, he was now only interested in the reimburse¬ 
ment the matter involved. 

When a computation was made, it was discovered that 
he did not have money enough to buy railroad tickets for 
the city that was his coveted destination. In spite of this 
disappointment, it was nevertheless highly gratifying to 
journey a thousand miles on a fast train. Indeed, it was 
the most welcomed ride he had ever taken. 

Because he had been in the habit of frequenting the 
drug store in his own building in Waverly, where he had 
a business interest and his prescriptions were filled, he 
proceeded automatically, a few hours after his arrival, to 
do the same thing in the city to which he had been brought 
under such strange circumstances. The store was small, 
but it was well stocked with the best merchandise. The 
fixtures were elaborate and the clerks were veritable ma¬ 
chines of urban courtesy. Blake could easily understand 
why this store had a large patronage, for he was enjoying 
the atmosphere of the place enough himself to want to 
return often. It gave him a feeling of peculiar security, 
which allowed him to relax for the first time since leaving 
Waverly. 

He had idled about the store only a little while when a 
small man, with mutton-chop whiskers, wearing immense 
shell-rimmed glasses, came in and bustled back toward 
an elaborate desk behind the prescription case. He hung 
the brown derby hat he was wearing on a hook, fussed a 
little over some mail, then looked up, manifestly ready 
for business. He first beckoned to the fountain man, who 
answered the summons of his employer reluctantly. Their 
business was discussed inaudibly for a few minutes. 

“How many times must I tell you that you’re dis¬ 
charged!” suddenly shouted the proprietor. “I want you 
to get out! So don’t argue with me!” Turning to the 
cashier, he went on, “Figure up what’s due him and give 
him a check, Madge. Please be quick about it and get 
him out of here!” 


264 


BEYOND PARADISE 


“Yes, sir, Mr. Dover,” replied the girl in the cage. 
“Here you are,” she said a moment later, handing over 
the check. “I think you’ll find that’s right.” 

The man snatched the paper and crushed it in his 
fingers. “I know it is, Madge.” Then, turning to his 
erstwhile employer he addressed him insolently. “Don’t 
think for a moment that you’re kicking me out in the cold. 
I could own this place if I wanted it. But for reasons 
of my own, I’ve already got a job on the next corner, 
see!” 

“Get out!” shouted the druggist, waving him toward 
the door. “Get out!” 

And when the door had closed behind the clerk, Jonan 
Dover was sorry he had lost his temper, for it was near 
the time of the evening when the soda business was at its 
best, putting him very much in need of a clerk. 

“Gurdon,” said Dover when two men came in and 
seated themselves on stools at the marble bar, “will you 
wait on the gentlemen?” 

Blake hurried toward the proprietor. “Do you want to 
hire someone to take the place of the man you just dis¬ 
charged ?” 

“Are you looking for a job?” 

“Yes.” 

Dover estimated him carefully from head to foot, as if 
trying to compute the loss of energy involved when such 
a ponderous body took to serving soft drinks and light 
lunches. 

“Have you had any experience along that line?” 

Blake recalled with difficulty that he had dabbled in 
such work. The druggist had given him a key to the 
drug store at home, to enable him to fill emergency pre¬ 
scriptions at night. The best use he made of the key was 
when he returned late from country drives and he in¬ 
vited the man who accompanied him on these trips to 
partake of a lunch he fixed. Once, while preparing egg 
drinks and sandwiches, he had remarked that it would not 
be amiss to presume he could earn a livelihood at the job. 

“I have,” he said. 

“What is your name?” 

“Joel Carmody,” he instantly invented. 


BEYOND PARADISE 


265 


They talked a little about wages. 

“All right, Joel,” said the druggist. “I suppose you’ll 
do, if you’ll go to work at once.” 

A few moments later the former Waverly surgeon was 
catering to the public in the capacity of a soda clerk. 
******** 

Blake had secured quarters for Phyllis and himself at 
a cheap downtown lodging house, consisting of two 
housekeeping rooms; but as it required more money to 
procure supplies to prepare a meal than to buy it, they 
had gone to a nearby restaurant for their supper. He 
had spent the greater part of his last dollar on the meal, 
after which he had sent Phyllis back to their rooms. 

When he returned to the lodging-house that night, 
Phyllis was waiting for him; although she did not say 
anything about it, the anxiety she displayed over his pro¬ 
longed absence showed plainly that her confidence in him 
was very shallow. Had she presumed he had gone off 
and left her? Heaven!—the utterly lost feeling that came 
over him! Then, when she seemed to have eased her 
mind, she forced a smile. 

He gave her a bundle he was carrying under his arm, 
saying, “That is our breakfast.” 

She smelled the package childishly. “Oh!” 

Blake was ashamed of himself. It was not in him to 
bring in a meal as a cat brings a mouse to her young. At 
home this would have been his way of jesting. Phyllis 
untied the parcel and took from it a loaf of bread and a 
piece of cheese. Where had he foraged it? 

“Our breakfast!” she said, more to herself than to 
him. 

“It’s the best I could do,” he said soberly. 

And now there came to her for the first time the 
seriousness of it all. At length her curiosity got the 
upper hand and she asked, “Where did you get this?” 

“At the Dover Drug Company. . . . I’ll return it 

when they pay me. . . . I’m working there.” 

“You are working?” 

“Yes,” he said hesitantly. “I have charge of their 
fountain.” 


266 BEYOND PARADISE 

Everything he said was a surprise to her. “Working 
at the—” 

“It’s the best I can do,” he repeated, ashamed to admit 
it. “For the time being,” he added. 

Phyllis’ admiration for him was without limit. Where 
in all the world was there another man with his dauntless 
courage? A person of his caste stooping to provide for 
her! It was incredible! 

He was in the meantime visualizing her opinion of him 
quite differently. What must she be thinking of him? It 
was only a few weeks since he had left his native haunts, 
still his destitution was such that he found it necessary 
to purloin enough food for a meal. How was she inter¬ 
preting it? As for himself, he felt he was lacking in 
ability. 

But it was not long before she showed that she had al¬ 
ready joined him heart and soul in fighting a common 
battle for sustenance. His tribulations were her own; 
there was no demarcation where his obligation ceased and 
her duty began—it was all one. 

******** 

Marcia waited several weeks for Blake to return, hop¬ 
ing that the impossibility of his escapade would become 
apparent to him, when he would come back or at least 
write to her and affect a reconciliation in that way. His 
friends and the servants were informed that he had gone 
East for a special course in surgery; the duration of his 
absence was indefinite. Then, when some of his patients 
demanded to know definitely about his return, she knew 
it was useless to hold out hope that was doomed to dis¬ 
appointment, and she told them he was seriously ill in 
Europe and that she was going abroad to be with him. 
Instead she went to Washington to put into execution her 
threat to apprehend him under the Mann act. 

She kept the intent of her plan from Curtis, filing her 
charges with Calvin Minter, at the head of a branch of 
the department of justice in which Curtis was employed. 
It was only through her influence and friendship with 
Minter that she succeeded in having her complaint con¬ 
sidered by him. 


BEYOND PARADISE 267 

“This should be filed in the district in which you re¬ 
side,” he informed her. “I must ask you to do that.” 

“I am a resident of the District of Columbia—now.” 

“Your legal residence is Waverly.” 

“I know,” said Marcia, “but you will deviate a little 
from the usual course for me.” 

Minter adhered to official obstinacy. “It will compli¬ 
cate matters to go out of the regular channel.” 

“But you will.” 

For a while he did not answer, merely staring at her. 

“All right,” he said, presuming that they understood 
each other, “I’ll assign a man to the matter at once.” He 
rang for an attendant. “Why did you come to me with 
this ?” he continued. “It’s unusual.” 

“Because I felt you would handle the matter satisfac¬ 
torily.” 

“Then you don’t have the confidence in Lyman Curtis 
that you have in me?” 

“That isn’t it,” Marcia hastened to assure him. “I 
came to you because I don’t want Mr. Curtis to know 
about it.” 

This pleased Minter. 

“Oh, you want it handled—a—” 

“Quietly,” Marcia took up what he was stuttering over. 

A jaunty young fellow came into the room. 

“See if you can find Lucien Stark,” was Minter’s re¬ 
quest to him, “and ask him to come here.” 

The page was careful about getting the order right. 
“You want to see him here?” 

“Yes.” 

He nodded and left. 

“Now then,” said Minter, again turning to Marcia, “I 
want to ask you a few questions.” He wrote her name 
on a legal form. “Your age?” he asked. 

“Is all that necessary?” she asked, studying the ques¬ 
tionnaire. 

“Well, not exactly.” 

Minter was able to complete from memory what he 
had started. 

Just then Stark was announced. Because of his in¬ 
fallible methods, habitual violators of the law feared 


268 


BEYOND PARADISE 


Stark more than any other detective in the service. He 
was relentless when tracing criminals, not even hesitating 
to resort to violations himself when he felt the necessity 
of employing such means. Before entering the service 
he had several times escaped the toils of the law for such 
transgressions. Evidently, by assigning Stark to the case, 
Minter earnestly proposed to take Blake into custody. 

“You wanted me, Mr. Minter ?” asked the man. 

“Yes, Stark,” said his superior. “I understand you 
have finished with the Dolan matter?” 

“I have.” 

His voice was so soft and pleasing that Marcia regarded 
him with apprehension. How was it possible for a man 
with his reputation to be so mild-mannered? Then she 
remembered that people with these characteristics are 
usually the most relentless in their dealings. She began 
pitying Blake, and a strange forgiving feeling came over 
her, making her want to withdraw the charges. 

“This is Mrs. Blake,” said Minter, looking across at 
Marcia. He handed Stark an outline of the complaint. 
“Here is what she wants you to do for her.” The de¬ 
tective did not give her much consideration, except for 
a sharp glance as he took the paper. He spent a few 
moments going over the outline, then turned to Marcia 
and regarded her with amazement. Then he cast another 
swift glance at the paper. 

He had long, slender fingers and he turned the paper 
with something akin to a feminine twist of his wrist. And 
he stood so lightly on his feet that it seemed he was 
trying to keep himself from sinking in quicksand. His 
manner made him repulsive to Marcia, but she excused 
him because it was only natural to expect a man of his 
remarkable acumen to conduct himself in a rather extraor¬ 
dinary manner; and, being a detective, she excused him 
for the somewhat embarrassing scrutiny to which he sub¬ 
jected her. 

“I hope I can be of service to you, Mrs. Blake,” he 
said at length. “I’ll do my utmost.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” she said simply. 

In Stark’s mind there was not the least doubt about 
being able to find Blake. Among his associates he was 


BEYOND PARADISE 


269 


known as the man who always got what he went after. 
The thing that puzzled him was why Marcia was soliciting 
his aid to trace a man who had run away from her with 
another woman. A woman as pretty as she would have 
no difficulty whatever finding a man who would appreciate 
her—even if he was a detective. 

“As yet, I cannot say how soon I’ll succeed,” continued 
Stark. “But I’ll locate him as quickly as I can.” 

“When you do,” said Marcia, “don’t be too severe with 
him.” 

Stark studied the complaint again, then Marcia. “I 
want to assure you that as far as possible your wish will 
be adhered to.” 

The detective asked her to sit down. They now went 
into details, many of which were wholly unnecessary. But 
here was a beautiful woman, at present unattached, and 
he decided to make the most of the situation. 

******** 

As a soda clerk Blake was not a very great success. He 
had difficulty remembering how to prepare orders and 
many of the concoctions he served were rejected. Al¬ 
though business was falling off through his unsatisfactory 
service, he nevertheless felt the necessity of asking his 
employer for an increase in wages, as it had become sadly 
evident that it was impossible for three persons to subsist 
on the weekly pittance he was receiving. When he spoke 
to Dover about it, the proprietor saw an opportunity to 
rid himself of Blake without hurting him, for he liked 
the cumbersome individual, though he presumed a smaller 
man would more nearly look the part of a soda clerk, and 
could possibly get along on less formidable wages. 

Dover had discovered that Blake knew more about 
chemicals than any prescription clerk he had ever em¬ 
ployed, so he informed him that he had recommended him 
to Mathew LeGrand, president of the LeGrand Chemical 
Works, as a chemist. Dover telephoned to LeGrand, 
telling him that Carmody was ready to accept a position 
with him. He had asked the chemical manufacturer to 
stop at his store if he came downtown during the course 
of the day, but since LeGrand was at the time in urgent 


270 


BEYOND PARADISE 


need of a proficient chemist to do special work, he called 
on him not an hour later. 

Blake was favorably impressed with LeGrand’s propo¬ 
sition, so he accepted the new position that would give 
him something beyond the bare necessities of life. After 
that he and Phyllis lived in perfect contentment for 
several months, except that he was horrified every time he 
thought of the consequences if the federal agents should 
seize him. 

But in spite of his fears, he established something in 
the way of permanency by purchasing a small cottage in 
an outlying district of the city. The house was old and of 
little value, but nevertheless it was something he could 
think of as mine; that was a very great satisfaction. He 
paid down only a small part of the purchase price and 
furnished it scantily with a cheap grade of furniture; but 
there they lived, happy because they had each other, even 
though there was a constant mortal fear lurking in the 
heart of each that their hiding place was liable to be dis¬ 
covered by those they knew were hunting them. 

Then, when they were beginning to gain confidence that 
they had successfully eluded the federal agents, a terrible 
thing happened. Blake was working on some chemical 
equations LeGrand thought would net him a fortune if 
they could be solved, in which it was necessary to employ 
highly concentrated acids. He had always handled the 
strong acids with great caution, but one day he became 
careless for just an instant while replacing a rubber demi¬ 
john with concentrated hydrofluoric acid on a shelf above 
his head, when the disintegrated rubber crumbled in his 
hands and the escaping contents saturated his clothing, 
causing fearful burns over his entire body. Strangling 
and burning alive, Blake tore his clothing into shreds and 
dragged himself under a faucet of running water. The 
cold water gave him temporary relief, but he soon be¬ 
came conscious of a horrible numbness, as if he were un¬ 
dergoing a vital and physical separation, and he began 
struggling frantically to determine how seriously he was 
hurt. When corroded layers of skin and flesh came off 
his hands and lips and nostrils on the slightest touch, he 
knew what this meant; he would die or be forever an 


BEYOND PARADISE 


271 


abominable cripple—he decided he wanted to die. As he 
reached for a bottle of deadly poison with the intention 
of ending his life, the fumes that generated from the re¬ 
action of the acid on the body penetrated his lungs and 
caused a shortness of breath and spasmodic coughing, 
staying his hand. This condition increased in severity 
until he crumpled prostrate to the floor. 

His assistant, absent at the time, returned a little later 
and found him in this collapsed state, and when the com¬ 
pany physician obtained faint heart-sounds with a stetho¬ 
scope, he was removed to a hospital. 

“Joel Carmody dead!” gasped LeGrand when the acci¬ 
dent was reported to him. “I can’t believe it! I was 
talking to him only a short time ago.” 

LeGrand was so interested in Blake’s work and ability 
that he went to visit him several times daily in his labora¬ 
tory. The shock of being robbed of success when it was 
almost within his grasp was severe. A second report 
reached him while he was on the way to Blake’s work¬ 
room, that Carmody was not dead and had been taken 
to a hospital; he hastened to the bedside. But he with¬ 
drew from the room in despair when he saw the pitiable 
hopelessness of the man on whom he had depended to 
develop his dream into a practicable miracle. When 
Blake was no longer of any value to him, like a worn out 
piece of machinery, he was ready to cast him aside. 

Phyllis was notified and hurried to the hospital. 
Through the employment of heroic measures, Blake had 
been relieved of suffocation, and was gradually reviving 
when Phyllis arrived. His mentality dulled, his sight 
seriously blurred, his jangled perceptions mistook her for 
one of the federal agents from whom he had so long 
been hiding in constant terror of discovery. That terror 
was now magnified a hundredfold. 

A nurse made a vain attempt to calm him. When she 
found it necessary to repress him forcefully to keep him 
in bed, he became so violent that it required several in¬ 
ternes and nurses to place him in a straight-jacket. The 
resistance the straight-jacket offered seemed to be to his 
liking, and for hours he continued fighting against it with 
unyielding fury, until at last he succumbed to a sleep in- 


2J2 


BEYOND PARADISE 


duced by exhaustion and morphine. It was necessary to 
keep him in the restraint for many days, which was re¬ 
leased only at times when he became rational or sank into 
a coma, to be quickly re-applied when he returned to 
frenzied delirium. 

Then, after his life had been despaired of, he showed 
certain signs of improvement; although his turn for the 
better was not marked enough to be discernible to the 
eyes of the casual observer, his physician announced he 
was “holding his own.” Despite the fact that the attend¬ 
ing doctor was satisfied with the condition of his patient, 
for days Blake remained practically at a standstill. Then 
his improvement changed from a sluggish to such a rapid 
progress toward recovery that those in charge of the case 
marveled at his extraordinary recuperative power. 

But the effect of the hydrofluoric acid, resulting in 
various desquamating and deep, open erosions, that filled 
with contracting scar-tissue as they healed, was binding 
him into a veritable knot. He was gradually becoming 
the miserable cripple his imagination had pictured as he 
was lying helpless on the laboratory floor. 

When he was ready to leave the hospital he was un¬ 
able to walk and only barely able to bring his hands to 
his mouth to feed himself. His face was contorted be¬ 
yond recognition; what little hair was left on his head 
had changed in color. Not a recognizable feature re¬ 
mained. Also, through muscular contraction about his 
throat, the function of the vocal apparatus was impaired, 
and his voice was akin to the growl of a beast. Even 
when he slept, his eyes would not close; the contracted 
skin was constantly holding them wide open, giving them 
the appearance of being twice their usual size. In fact, 
his entire body was enveloped in such a mass of con¬ 
stricting bands of scar-tissue, which were daily drawing 
him more and more firmly together, that at last it seemed 
the final vital spark would be forced out of him. 

While in the ambulance, on the way from the hospital 
to his house, Blake wondered with misgivings how Phyllis 
would receive him. He was indeed something loathesome 
for anyone to have as a companion, to say nothing of 


BEYOND PARADISE 


273 

having to be provided for. He wished he had succeeded 
in reaching the bottle of poison before his collapse. 

In the meantime Phyllis had worries of her own. Her 
baby, a boy, whom she had named Donald, was born while 
Blake was in the hospital. He had not yet seen the 
child. 

At last the ambulance came rolling easily up to the 
house; Phyllis trembled with anticipation. The attend¬ 
ants brought Blake in with great caution, lowered the 
stretcher in the middle of the room, lifted him into a 
chair Phyllis had prepared for him, and then departed as 
quietly as they had come. He looked about like a bird 
liberated from a long imprisonment in a cage, who, be¬ 
cause of it, had forgotten how to use its wings for flight. 

When his eyes encountered the little bed, he asked 
Phyllis to pull it over to him. Young Donald was at 
the time going through a series of juvenile calisthenics; 
the apparently well-timed attempt at rhythmical bodily 
contortions on the part of the youngster amused Blake. 
It was more than Phyllis could stand; she went to the 
bedroom to cry long and hard, and when she returned 
Blake was still pawing and cooing at the baby, who was 
evidently enjoying it. 

“Did you cry?” he asked as best he could when he 
observed that her eyes were moist. 

Phyllis nodded her head. “I couldn’t help it.” 

“I don’t want you to—” 

He paused with a shudder, his blurry eyes full of in¬ 
tense appeal. Although his voice had failed him, he had 
spoken so plainly that Phyllis was startled. In her re¬ 
joicing over the possibility that he was regaining his 
speech, she waited for him to say more, but he remained 
silent, his face half buried in his helpless hands. 

The baby, missing his attention, tried to attract him by 
fussing. Phyllis picked up the little fellow and laid her 
hand on Blake’s shoulder with a sigh. 

He looked up. “I don’t blame you for feeling sorry 
for yourself!” 

“I am not sorry for myself,” she replied, when she 
realized that he misunderstood her grieving. “Donald, 
my heart aches for you . I didn’t want to cry. I knew 


274 


BEYOND PARADISE 


it would make you feel bad .... and I wanted to 
avoid that” She pressed the sputtering baby close to 
her. “Because we are one,” she added. 

“Phyllis, forgive me,” he begged. “I’m desperate and 

miserable and disagreeable.My appearance 

is enough for you to endure without having me act 
surly.” 

“There isn’t anything that can keep me from loving 
you,” she protested. “But the thought that I’ll be unable 
to make you comfortable makes me uneasy.” 

“Now don’t worry about that,” he implored her. “I’m 
still able to get about. Will you bring me the stones in 
the top right-hand drawer of my writing-desk?” 

Phyllis fetched a handful of semi-precious stones, some 
of them partially cut, regarding them thoughtfully as she 
dropped them into Blake’s shriveled hand. 

“What are you going to do with them?” she asked. 

He looked up at her. “I’m going to cut them into 
cameos and intaglios.” 

Her eyes rested on his distorted hands. “How can 
you ?” 

“I’ll show you presently if you’ll help me over to that 
work-bench.” 

Phyllis regarded the outfit with which he proposed to 
eke out a livelihood. She had seen him working at it 
during spare moments while employed at the chemical 
factory, but it seemed impossible that he could accomplish 
anything in his present condition. 

“You can’t do it, Donald!” 

“Help me get over there,” he insisted. 

He was heavy, but she succeeded in moving him to the 
work-table, which was nothing more than a small kitchen 
table, with a tool-rack on one end at the top, covered with 
unusual tools and instruments. Besides the rack filled with 
equipment, there was a vise and a small, intricate machine, 
equipped with an electric motor. He shifted himself into 
position at the table with difficulty, then maneuvered to 
adjust himself to some degree of comfort. 

At last, fastening a stone in a tiny vise, he began the 
tedious cutting, only to discover before he had proceeded 
far that the shape of ordinary tools did not conform to 


BEYOND PARADISE 


275 


his malformed hands, and tired them. Nor did the height 
of his stool and the plane of the table correspond to the 
alignment of his body and arms to give the best results. 

“Send for the locksmith down the street,” he demanded 
of Phyllis rather brusquely. “And I want a carpenter, 
too.” 

Phyllis promptly obeyed him, glad to do anything that 
might relieve his misery and tense nerves, though it seem¬ 
ed ridiculous for a person in his physical condition to 
spend money on a notion. She sent her boy with a note 
to the locksmith, requesting him to return with the child 
if he could spare the time. Their nearest neighbor was 
a carpenter, and she left word with his wife for him to 
come over when he returned from work that evening. 

The locksmith complied with her request and was tot¬ 
tering, old and feeble, at the boy’s heels when he came 
back. 

“Can you fashion the handles of these things to fit my 
hands ?” Blake asked eagerly when the locksmith came in. 
“They are too large—my fingers don’t go around them 
far enough for a good grip. I also want several of them 
bent.” 

The locksmith came over to him, a puzzled scowl on his 
face. He took a spectacle case from his pocket, then 
looked over the array of equipment and considered. 

“Let me see,” he said, picking up a chisel, “do I under¬ 
stand you right; you want smaller handles on these and 
you want some of them bent ?” 

Blake picked up two slender gouges and held them to¬ 
gether to illustrate the angle he desired. 

“That’s what I want .... bent like that.” 

“I S ee.” 

“Well, can you do it?” 

“How about the temper?” 

“You should know about that. . . . You remem¬ 

ber telling me about making—” 

“I know,” interrupted the locksmith, as if suddenly re¬ 
calling how to fly. “I know just what you want.” 

“Can you do it?” 

“Yes, sure, I can.” 

“All right,” said Blake nervously. “These are the ones 


276 


BEYOND PARADISE 


I want changed. I’ll show you what I want done to each 
of them.” 

The locksmith took notes on a dirty pad with a stubby 
pencil, following Blake as he explained the alterations he 
desired. 

******** 

LeGrand was an old-school business man, who con¬ 
ducted the business of his corporation in stern cold-blood. 
His affection for Blake, expressed in deeds as well as 
words, ceased when he was too badly crippled to carry on 
the experiments he had begun. Then, too, the chemist 
who followed Blake at the LeGrand works, through a 
lack of ability to go on with the work where Blake had 
left off, informed LeGrand that he was spending money 
on impossible equations. This angered LeGrand, and he 
accused Blake of being an impostor and a fraud, who 
had continued to work on a problem after he knew no 
results could be obtained. He even denounced the com¬ 
pensation law that provided for people like him. 

“Starving is too good for them,” he said. 

With no prospect of assistance from LeGrand other 
than what the law compelled him to give, Phyllis came to 
the realization that Blake’s determination to support them 
through his own efforts was not a mere idle fancy. What 
had at first seemed like a visionary folly now became a 
serious business. With this thought in mind, she earnest¬ 
ly set about to help him in his work. 

She soon displayed such deftness in the art of lapidary 
that Blake had her do much of the work to which his 
withered hands were not adapted. Together they put in 
long hours at their tedious task, and their labors were not 
in vain as far as production was concerned. 

But their product must be disposed of if their work 
was to be profitable. This had never entered Blake’s 
dulled mind. Unknown to him, Phyllis brooded over the 
problem day and night for a week, at last deciding to 
secretly take a quantity of the finished stones to some of 
the stores downtown and try to dispose of them. The 
big stores were not inclined to deal with her, but finally 
she sold several of the stones to a dealer in antiquities, for 
an unusually large sum. After that, try as she would, 


BEYOND PARADISE 


277 


no more sales were made for many days. The only en¬ 
couragement she received was the favorable opinion ex¬ 
pressed regarding the amazingly fine quality of cutting by 
everybody who saw the gems; but the opinion seemed to 
be universal that this kind of adornment was out of 
vogue just now. 

“Beautiful women have been in vogue since man came 
into being,” thought Phyllis. “And beautiful things are 
never out of fashion with women,” she thought further. 
She looked at the array of glittering stones. “And these 
are beautiful. I’ll make people like them. I’ll make 
them want them. . . . They were popular once and 

I’ll make them popular again.” 

Filled with this determination to dispose of more stones, 
she began a systematic solicitation of the men and women 
she presumed would be interested in her wares. The ex¬ 
perience she gained in this way offset the disappointments 
she naturally met with. Although only a few of those 
she approached bought, she very often obtained informa¬ 
tion that led to other prospective buyers. 

It was not long now until the volume of her sales be¬ 
came very satisfactory, which lightened their hearts 
though their labors were increased, for they soon became 
aware that such a demand had been created for cameos 
and intaglios that their combined efforts could not pro¬ 
duce enough gems to supply the demand, and they worked 
far into the nights to enhance their profits. 

******** 

In the meantime Lucien Stark had not been successful 
in trailing Blake—at least that was what he reported to 
Marcia, though at the time of his last communication with 
her, he was in the city where Blake was living, ready to 
arrest him any moment he desired to do so. Blake’s 
evasiveness aroused Marcia’s ire. Her anger made her 
more determined than ever to find him. Her chagrin 
would not let her rest. In the beginning she had re¬ 
quested Stark to be mild with him, but now she was 
urging the detective to use every means at his disposal 
to find him and forget about being lenient if he was suc¬ 
cessful. For fear that Stark might relinquish his assign- 


278 


BEYOND PARADISE 


ment, she was sending him large sums of money to make 
it worth his while to continue with the case. 

But the Blake interests in Waverly were beginning to 
suffer severely from lack of proper management, causing 
Marcia’s funds to run low, making it impossible for her 
to send Stark any more money. Marcia informed him 
about this in a rather pitiful letter, and he immediately 
reported to her that he had located Blake. How he had 
accomplished this after so many months of futile search¬ 
ing was a mystery—but everything he did was mysterious. 

Stark also sent a report to Minter, notifying him of 
his success, but Minter was ill when the communication 
arrived and Curtis was relieving him. It was the first 
intimation Curtis had had that Blake was a hunted man. 
A dreadful feeling of responsibility seized him. This was 
his opportunity to show Blake that he earnestly meant to 
repay him for his benevolence toward Phyllis, so he tele¬ 
graphed to Stark to defer Blake’s arrest until he arrived. 
This Stark did, waiting for Curtis with some impatience. 
Since there was no more money forthcoming he was in¬ 
clined to conclude the matter quickly, but he respected the 
order from his superior. 

Stark was at the depot when Curtis came to town, hav¬ 
ing met all the trains during the last twenty-four hours. 
They had a brief conference in the train-shed before going 
uptown. Stark scoffed at Curtis’ suggestion to send 
another report to Washington, stating his inability to lo¬ 
cate Blake. 

“Lucien Stark never fails to land his man!” he said 
boastfully. “Blake is mine this time.” 

“You would be doing me a personal favor.” 

“I’d be only too glad to grant you any request in the 
world but this one.” 

“What’s the reason for your obstinacy?” 

“Just this,” said the detective, “an unbroken string of 
successes extending over a period of ten years.” 

“Is that all.” 

“That’s sufficient reason for me!” 

And Curtis knew it was for a man like Stark. 

“Then do me the favor of putting off arresting him 
until tomorrow,” he urged. 


BEYOND PARADISE 


279 


“Why, of course,” he assented. “I’ll wait a week or 
more .... if that’ll help you any. But, my dear 
Curtis, if you think you can do any good by warning 
Blake you’re mistaken. Remember, I found him here 

and I’ll find him again if he does get away. 

However, I doubt that he could leave this city without 
my knowledge.” 

Curtis pondered while Stark continued to relate all he 
knew about the man he referred to as a fugitive, deliber¬ 
ately, as if challenging him to arrange an escape, telling 
how to reach the place where Blake was living. 

“You’ll not arrest him until tomorrow?” 

“I’ve given you my word that I won’t.” 

Curtis saw the futility of attempting to smuggle Blake 
out of the city with Stark free to watch him. He must 
work hard and fast if he was to save his friend. He spent 
the rest of the day at his hotel, preferring to be alone 
while trying to devise some scheme to detain Stark long 
enough to give Blake an opportunity to cover his tracks 
effectively after leaving the city. This, of course, was no 
easy matter with Blake in his physical condition. At 
length the name Rodwell came to his mind. Although 
the man’s name might be anything but that, it was as 
such that it appeared on the records in Minter’s office. 

Rodwell was at the head of an opium ring that operated 
over a wide territory, with headquarters in that city. 
From the records it was manifest that these two—Stark 
and Rodwell—had been waging a mortal battle for a long 
time; one was constantly at the throat of the other. Be¬ 
fore leaving to consult with Stark, Curtis had obtained 
this information by going over some of the reports Stark 
had made to his superiors during his ten years in the 
service. 

Although Curtis had no intention of using Rodwell in 
aiding Blake to escape when he read Stark’s account of 
him, it was nevertheless so interesting that he had read 
all of it, and fortunately remembered most of the details. 
Several times Rodwell had evaded Stark’s carefully woven 
web by only the narrowest margin—just the smallest link 
of evidence was lacking to convict him. A year ago two 
of his lieutenants were killed by federal agents when they 



28 o 


BEYOND PARADISE 


attempted to escape after being caught perpetrating 
crimes; but Rodwell’s perspicacity was such that it kept 
him from falling into a trap. However, Stark did not 
consider his hitherto unsuccessful attempts to apprehend 
Rodwell as failures—it was merely an unfinished job. 

On the other hand, Rodwell was trying unceasingly to 
put Stark out of the way. Twice, in rapid succession, 
Stark had eluded Rodwell and his associates only by the 
grace of chance. Because of the ill feeling that existed 
between these two men, Curtis was still hopeful of sav¬ 
ing Blake. 

That evening Curtis went to see Rodwell, whom he 
found after doing a little detective work on his own ac¬ 
count. Of course, if he had not remembered the details 
in Stark’s account so well, he would have experienced 
considerable difficulty locating him. A man answering 
Rodwell’s description was seated at a table listening to a 
stalwart confederate when Curtis came in unannounced. 

“What’s your business here?” one of the men de¬ 
manded when Curtis approached. 

Curtis was almost certain that the man who had spoken 
to him was Rodwell. 

“I’m looking for Mr. Rodwell,” said Curtis. 

“You’re speaking to him.” 

“I'm Lyman Curtis, and I’d like to talk with you 
alone.” 

The two men arose, Rodwell standing still while the 
others withdrew toward the door. 

Rodwell began bluntly. “I don’t believe you.” 

“How do you want me to prove my identity ?” 

“We’ll do that.” 

“Very well.Go ahead.” 

“Frisk him,” Rodwell ordered the men at the door. 
“We’ll see if he’s telling the truth.” 

“I’m from the department of justice,” Curtis hastened 
to explain, thinking it was best to do this because of cer¬ 
tain papers he had in his pockets. “But my business with 
you has nothing to do with that. It’s a personal matter.” 

“If you’re Curtis,” Rodwell assured him, “then I know 
where you are from. But I don’t believe you are Curtis.” 

The man searched for weapons. 


BEYOND PARADISE 


281 


“I’m unarmed/’ Curtis asserted. 

“He hasn’t a gun.” 

“Go on and frisk him,” Rodwell repeated his orders. 
“Make a thorough job of it. What are those papers I 
see in his pocket?” 

A careful search revealed nothing beyond what is 
common to the pockets of most men. The only thing 
Rodwell seemed interested in was the bundle of papers 
he had asked about; after looking these over at some 
length he returned them to Curtis. 

“Now then, what is your business with me?” demanded 
Rodwell when his confederate had left the room on his 
orders. “Be quick about it.” 

“Stark is in the city.” 

“Well?” said Rodwell, a look of suspicion crossing his 
face. 

“I thought it might interest you to know it.” 

“I knew he was in town,” Rodwell lied. 

Had Curtis believed him, it would have seemed his 
plans had gone amiss. “His presence in the city has been 
kept a secret.” 

“Yes, I know,” said Rodwell, coolly. “But finding out 
secrets is part of my business.” 

“He’s stopping at the Radmore.” 

Rodwell was beginning to show anxiety. “So I was 
told.” 

“I’d give quite a little if I could have him detained until 
I can get a friend out of the city whom he is about to 
arrest.” 

Rodwell was uneasy and puzzled. Then Curtis ex¬ 
plained the situation to him in detail. And when they 
parted it was evident from their attitude toward each 
other that they had agreed on something important. 
******** 

The following morning the newspapers contained bold 
headlines regarding the mysterious murder of Lucien 
Stark, a federal agent, in his hotel room. 

“They went further than I thought they would,” said 
Curtis to himself. “I didn’t think they would kill him.” 

He went immediately to see Blake. It was a long ride 
on the trolley. Then, arriving at the place, there was 


282 


BEYOND PARADISE 


the wait in a little store across the street, summoning 
courage to carry out his mission. And when at last he saw 
Phyllis leaving, he hastened to the little house. His own 
boy answered the knock on the door. 

“Mamma isn’t home,” he said as soon as the door 
opened. “She’s away selling jewelry.” 

Curtis winced but he caught himself when Blake shifted 
around for a look at the caller. To one who knew Blake 
as well as Curtis did there remained a bare resemblance 
of the doctor’s former features, but his body seemed to 
have shrunk to almost half its former size. Curtis ap¬ 
proached him slowly, a sense of horror making him un¬ 
certain and hesitant, though it seemed good to be so near 
the man he had come to help. Blake extended his hand, 
much with the limited motion of a fin; the great arms 
that Curtis had seen entwined about three athletic young 
fellows in a friendly scuffle at the Waverly drug-store 
one evening, tossing them in a heap on the floor like so 
many faggots, were so distorted that they looked un¬ 
human. 

“My God!” he exclaimed when he had satisfied himself 
that it was really Blake and that he was a helpless in¬ 
valid. “How did this happen ?” 

“I suppose it’s the result of the way I’ve lived—the se¬ 
quence of events,” said Blake resignedly. “Blame whom 
you wish.” 

“It was dreadful enough to hear that you and Marcia 
had separated—but this! . . . This is too terrible! 

I knew you’d been hurt, but I didn’t think you were in 
a condition like this.” 

“Blame whom you like,” repeated Blake. 

“I thought you and Marcia were as happy as any 
couple in all the world could possibly be.” 

“We were, but we didn’t know it,” said Blake, resum¬ 
ing his work on a stone, as if not a minute of his ebbing 
life must be wasted. “We were in paradise for a while, 
but I guess we went beyond it.” 

It was plain to see that a marked change had taken 
place in the doctor aside from the physical injuries he 
had sustained. He was no longer inclined to reject prof¬ 
fered sympathy; the attitude that the world owed him 


BEYOND PARADISE 


283 


more than it could give had left him. Perhaps this was 
not alone the result of bodily agony, but through the reali¬ 
zation that even the most powerful man is a mere child 
in the hands of fate. He had his death warrant written 
legibly upon his face. His flesh, where it was not eroded 
by the acid, had fallen away, and he was markedly bald 
and much older than his years. 

A baby began crying in another room. The little boy 
who had met Curtis at the door went into the room and 
returned in a few moments, lugging an infant, the bulky 
weight almost more than he could handle. He was talk¬ 
ing in an oddly maternal way to his charge, promising 
wonderful things. Then, without hesitation, he began 
putting a fresh change of clothes on the baby. 

“Our children,” said Blake, answering Curtis’ question¬ 
ing gaze. 

“Our children?” 

“Yes. . . . Yours and mine.” 

Curtis seemed to understand. 

“Don, I had to see you, and when I saw Phyllis leaving, 
I hurried over. I knew I could face you—but never her 
again. I must gO' before she comes back.” 

Blake continued to busy himself with his work. “Don’t 
you think this is a poor place to come to, feeling the way 
you do ? She may return any moment.” 

“I had to come . . . to warn you that you must 

leave this city. It’s not safe for you here. I’ll help you 
get away. A federal agent trailed you and was about to 
arrest you when he was murdered. Someone went to 
his room in the hotel last night and killed him. But his 
death means only a short respite for you. They’ll even¬ 
tually get you if you remain here.” 

Blake was unmoved, apparently unconcerned over 
what Curtis had told him. 

“Thank you for your willingness to help me,” he said, 
allowing his attention to stray for only an instant from 
the stone he was cutting. “I have nothing to fear any 
more. I am not long for this world.” 

Blake was right when he said he had nothing to fear. 
His physical condition was such that torture of any 
kind could not be other than short lived. It was unlikely 


284 


BEYOND PARADISE 


that he should fear death; still it seemed that something 
was having an evil mental effect on him. Perhaps it was 
the consequent suffering his death would cause his de¬ 
pendents that he had in mind. 

“Is there anything I can do?” 

“Yes,” said the other, raising his head and laying down 
his work. “I want you to go to Waverly and see what 
you can save from the wreck. I understand everything 
has gone to pieces. Heavens knows they will need it here 
—and Marcia, too.” Tears began trickling down his 
scarred face. “Will you do that?” 

“I’m glad you have a favor to ask of me. I’ll leave 
tonight.” 

“That’s fine of you. You’ve always been fine—and I’ve 
always liked you.” 

At this moment Curtis saw Phyllis alighting from a 
trolley car only a short distance away. 

“There is Phyllis,” he said nervously. “She must not 
find me here. Where can I go ?” 

“Hide in that closet,” Blake suggested. “I’ll send her 
on some kind of an errand when she comes in. That’ll 
give you a chance to get away.” 

Curtis stepped into a cubby-hole that was hung across 
with a lounge cover for a curtain. Phyllis came in a 
moment later; she hurried toward Blake, caressed him 
tenderly. 

“I had wonderful luck today, Donald,” she said. “I 
sold all the stones I had with me at one place. The de¬ 
mand for them is terrific. That is why I am back early.” 
She opened her pocketbook. “Look at all this money,” 
she continued, flourishing a handful of paper. “We’re 
really rich. Can you think of anything good you want 
to eat ?” 

Blake thought hard and fast. The butcher shop was 
two blocks away. 

He said, “I’ve been thinking of sweetbreads—I’d like 
some. 

******** 

Two days later Curtis arrived in Waverly on the late 
night train. He climbed into the Dumont motor bus, 
where a single fellow-passenger, who had been sleeping 


BEYOND PARADISE 285 

sonorously on the train, roused himself from drowsiness 
by yawning repeatedly. 

At the hotel he found Coats, Blake’s former caretaker, 
in the capacity of night clerk. Curtis grasped his hand 
and greeted him jovially, but the old clerk appeared to 
be mourning some great loss, saying very little and re¬ 
fusing to smile at all. When he did talk it was evident 
that he was not his former self, his discourse being limited 
strictly to the necessary and commonest words. There 
remained none of his former metaphoric redundancy. He 
showed no sign of being either delighted or disappointed 
over seeing Curtis, talking and stirring about as if his 
vitality had been completely depleted. 

“Where is Mrs. Blake?” Curtis finally asked. 

This seemed to rouse him. 

“I hope you haven’t come to continue persecuting that 
poor woman!” he said vehemently. 

“I wouldn’t be guilty of anything like that.” 

“I hope not! But you damned politicians are the cause 
of her predicament!” 

“Politicians ?” 

“You bet! Politics ruined her life. It was the cause 
of the only difficulty that ever came between her and 
myself.” 

Curtis wondered how much truth there was in Coats’ 
accusation. He admired the old man for his loyalty to 
his former mistress. 

“Where is she?” he asked again. “What is she doing?” 

“She is stopping here,” replied Coats, walking to and 
fro, “doing nothing but worrying herself to death!” 

“She is staying here?” 

Coats suddenly stopped. “You knew the Blakes lost 
everything they ever owned?” 

“No. ... I didn’t.” 

“Well, Blake is gone and she’s destitute.” 

Curtis turned away. So he was being blamed, at least 
partly, for her sad predicament. Were the people justi¬ 
fied in thinking him guilty of a thing like that ? Although 
he believed himself altogether blameless, it was very un¬ 
pleasant to have the unsavory reputation of having had 
a hand in the disruption of the Blake home. 


286 


BEYOND PARADISE 


“Show me to my room,” he said, no longer able to 
meet Coats’ accusing gaze. 

Although it was late in the night, Curtis had no 
thought of sleep. He smoked numberless cigarettes, 
which seemed to soothe his nerves; when smoking no 
longer had a sedative effect on him, he tried to while 
away the time reading, but he could not find a subject 
sufficiently interesting to absorb him. Putting the paper 
aside, he fell into silent meditation. If he could talk to 
Marcia he would feel better, even if she believed him 
culpable with respect to her situation, as Coats and 
probably a thousand others did. Then, at least, he could 
tell her how innocently guilty and sorry he was. 

Still pondering, he was aroused by a peculiar creaking, 
screeching noise not far away, as if a heavy vehicle were 
being drawn through deep snow on a frosty night. But 
it was not cold and there was no snow on the ground. 
The unusual sound grew to a terrific roar, and Curtis was 
almost positive he could smell smoke. A moment later 
a gray film began to permeate the walls of his room. He 
went to the door, and, opening it, long tongues of flames, 
that leaped at him from everywhere, smote him in the 
face. Shrieks of distress could be heard. Someone 
rushed past him in a mad frenzy, hesitated an instant, 
then disappeared into the smoke and roaring flames. 
There was a prolonged, horrible, gasping outcry, then 
quiet. 

Even while Curtis stood in the door he could see the 
fury of the fire increase with bewildering rapidity, the 
brick-veneered frame structure burning like tinder. Al¬ 
most before he could close the door the flames were 
everywhere breaking into his room; he must not waste a 
moment if he was to save himself. So, without stopping 
to consider, he rushed across to a window and leaped out 
of it headlong. His room was on the third floor and his 
heedless plunge was partially broken by telephone wires, 
undoubtedly saving his life. When he regained his feet 
he reeled about until an officer came along and pushed 
him behind a rope the firemen had drawn up. There 
was nothing to do but stand helplessly and watch the 
structure burn. 




BEYOND PARADISE 


287 


The efforts of the firemen seemed to be of no avail 
against the ravages of the fire. The streams of water 
that were playing on it appeared to give it zest. It was 
the second great fire Waverly had had within a compara¬ 
tively short time and the firemen, working with the con¬ 
fidence of experience, fought heroically. A fireman came 
down the ladder with a body wrapped in a blanket. 
Feminine footwear indicated it was a woman. Instantly 
the thought came to Curtis that this might be Marcia, for 
a survey of the crowd had failed to reveal her. He 
fought his way through the throng and followed the 
fireman until he placed the prostrate figure on the turf of 
the courthouse lawn. 

“Oh!” he groaned, when the blistered face was un¬ 
covered. “Oh! Oh! Marcia!” 

She opened her eyes, recognizing him with difficulty. 
“Why are you here, Lyman?” she whispered. 

“Blake sent me.He thought of you.” 

“Then you saw him?” 

“Yes.” 

“How is he?” 

“Very bad. . . . He met with a serious accident. 

It is killing him.” 

“Will you see him again?” 

“Yes.” 

“Tell him—” She stopped for breath. “T-t-ell him 
that I have forgiven him.” 

Her eyes closed slowly. Her body relaxed. She was 
dead. 

******** 

After Marcia’s funeral, that had upset Curtis more 
than any he had ever attended, he hastened to deliver her 
message to Blake. He again went to the little store across 
the street from the house to wait until Phyllis left the 
house, but hour after hour passed and not a living thing 
stirred about the place. At last he concluded to find 
out what was amiss. This time his knock on the door 
was answered by Phyllis. 

“Come in,” she said, apparently not in the least sur¬ 
prised to see him. “I have something to tell you.” 

Curtis obeyed her reluctantly. He saw Blake’s work¬ 
table bereft of its paraphernalia; the household effects 


288 BEYOND PARADISE 

were partly packed, and there was a sad expression on 
Phyllis’ face. 

“Where is Blake?” he asked, when he did not see the 
doctor anywhere about. “Where is he?” 

“He is dead,” she faltered, her eyes welling with tears. 
“We buried him yesterday.” 

“Marcia is dead, too,” he said. “She died in a hotel 
fire.” 

Neither could say any more, and for a long time they 
remained silent. 

“If it wasn’t for the babies,” she said at last, “I’d want 
to die, too.” 

“Don’t, Phyllis,” he implored her. “My indebtedness 
to you is greater than I can ever repay, but that will not 
keep me from trying to put myself right with you as 
much as I can. . . . If you’ll let me. You are a 

truly wonderful woman. I realized that when I was here 
a few days ago. You didn’t know.” 

“Donald told me about it.” 

“He did!” 

“It was the last thing he said to me. He wanted me 
to know how good you were to him, and he made me 
promise to thank you for him.” 

“The poor fellow,” he said miserably. “I didn’t think 
he would go so soon.” 

“I wish you could have been here.” 

“It was impossible for me to be in two places at the 
same time,” he explained. “I’m sorry.” 

“But you hid deliberately when you were here. I was 
disappointed in the way you avoided me!” 

“Will you marry me, Phyllis?” he said bluntly. “You 
will when you realize how much I love you. Then we’ll 
always be together.” 

It was needless for her to consider the situation fur¬ 
ther. She had thought it over so many times in the past. 
Then, too, she had loved Curtis all these years, only her 
stubbornness prohibiting an expression of her love. 

He took her gently in his arms. “We’ll go away, 
Phyllis—to London, where I have accepted a position 
with a publishing house. I sent my resignation to Wash¬ 
ington yesterday.Will you come . . . 

as my wife?” 

Her head was resting on his shoulder when she nodded. 















'I 


















